


Take a Deep Breath - I've Got Your Back

by ceterisparibus



Series: Prompts! [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Brett Mahoney is the one thing keeping Hell's Kitchen from falling apart, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Foggy was right all along about everything, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Legal Drama, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Ray Nadeem deserved better, Tumblr Prompt, Whump, at least almost everything, matt murdock gets so many hugs, obviously, season 3 re-telling, the real superpower is healthy communication
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2020-01-16 08:57:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 69,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18518161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceterisparibus/pseuds/ceterisparibus
Summary: AU where everybody (by which I mostly mean Matt) figures out the meaning of the word "teamwork" sooner rather than later. Started as a promp, exploded into a fic due to wonderful comments.Original prompt: So I know you gave your meta response to what would've happened if Matt had been Karen's lawyer when Nadeem questioned her after the Bulletin attack, but how would that go in fic form? 'Cause you said that Matt's and Foggy's lawyering styles are pretty different, and I wonder how aggressively Matt would be shutting down Nadeem's questions here.I'm not sure if this matches what I meta'd, but, well, enjoy some lawyer!Matt bleeding profusely.





	1. Chapter 1

Karen

“ _Hello, Karen. It’s nice to see you again._ ”

Karen’s mouth was dry. She felt trapped in that huge chair at that huge table, and all the light streaming in from the huge wall of windows just made her feel exposed. Alone.

Foggy still unconscious. He’d joined everyone who was left alive in the hospital. Everyone but her.

Pausing the clip, Nadeem turned around to face her. “Was there anyone else in the room named Karen? Or in the whole Bulletin staff?”

Karen rubbed at the bloodstain on her sleeve. She didn’t have to answer him.

“Miss Page.”

She swallowed. “I plead the fifth.”

Nadeem’s hands rested on his hips. “You want a lawyer, Miss Page? How about Mr. Nelson? Wait, he can’t help you. He got knocked out by the same guy that shot up the Bulletin but left you alive.”

She rubbed harder at the stain. It wouldn’t come out. Her thumb was tinted pink.

“Or how about Mr. Murdock, Miss Page? Why don’t you call him to represent you?”

She shook her head.

“I just wanna understand something. I wanna understand why Daredevil spared _you_ out of everyone. He looked you right in the eye and shot straight past your head and I can’t figure out why he’d do that. Care to explain it to me?”

She fought to keep her voice steady. “I don’t have to answer your questions.”

A harsh smile etched itself across Nadeem’s face. “Because you don’t care if Daredevil goes somewhere else next, do you? You don’t care if he goes and shoots up a hospital or a school or a church because _if you did_ , you’d be telling me what you know about him right now.”

Biting her lip, she shook her head again.

Nadeem folded his arms across his chest and waited.

She stared at the red on her sleeve.

He sighed. “All right, Miss Page. We’ll do this the hard way. If you don’t start talking in the next five minutes, I’m gonna send a team to your house to—”

“What?” she interrupted.

“I’m willing to bet there’s evidence there that could help us find Daredevil, unless you’d rather save us the trouble and just tell me what I need to know.” He raised his eyebrows.

Karen twisted her hands together. “I don’t—”

“Karen, stop talking.”

The voice was so strong and familiar that Karen suddenly felt like everything would be okay. Not right away, maybe not for a long time, but eventually. And there he was in the doorway, dressed in a dark gray suit. He'd shed his makeshift mask and now his face was frighteningly pale under his red glasses. There was still blood smeared in his scruff, and several darker marks on his jacket...but everyone at the Bulletin was injured. (Except for her.) It wasn’t enough to give him away.

But how was he even _standing?_ The fake Daredevil stuck _scissors_ in his chest.

Nadeem’s entire body tensed and his hand strayed to his gun. Karen wanted to scream. Was he really going to shoot someone he thought was a regular blind lawyer?

Matt stepped into the room. His movements were a bit stiff, but maybe Nadeem wouldn’t notice. It wasn’t like he knew Matt well enough to know how graceful he could be. “Agent Nadeem, any search of Miss Page’s apartment is completely unjustified and will result in a legal and public image nightmare for you and your entire department. I guarantee it.”

Nadeem’s eyes narrowed. “Public safety exception.”

“Doesn’t apply,” Matt countered flatly. He bumped into a chair and winced. Karen couldn’t tell if it was for show. “No probable cause and no urgency, or else you wouldn’t be here in this room interrogating my client.”

“What’s in her apartment you don’t want me to see?”

“Pick up a phone and get a warrant,” Matt said through gritted teeth, feeling his way over to the chair next to Karen. “It’s not that hard.”

Nadeem switched tactics. “Speaking of phones, you haven’t been easy to get ahold of, Mr. Murdock.”

Matt gingerly lowered himself into the chair. “I’ve been busy.”

“Busy.” Nadeem shifted his weight, brow furrowed incredulously. “Well, I’m sorry to _inconvenience_ you, but the FBI is responsible for nailing down each and every person who’s helped Wilson Fisk in his—”

“Responsible for helping Fisk nail each and every person who’s a threat to him, you mean. But that’s irrelevant right now. I’m here to represent Miss Page.”

“Not until you answer my questions,” Nadeem snapped.

Matt flashed a dark smile. “Are you planning on depriving my client of my legal counsel? In which case I’m sure you’ll also be happy to provide her with some other attorney. And, of course, you’ll wait to question her until you do.”

“I’m more worried about you, Mr. Murdock.”

Matt inclined his head as if to say he understood. “In that case, I’ll be invoking my fifth amendment rights and you won’t get anything out of me until you take care of her.” He paused. “Then again, you let _me_ take care of her, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

Nadeem’s eyes flicked back to Karen. “Miss Page, you already know Matt Murdock is suspected of conspiring with Wilson Fisk. You sure you want him to represent you?”

She held his gaze. “Absolutely.”

And she didn’t miss the way Matt’s lips curved upward ever so slightly.

Sighing again, Nadeem sat in his own chair across from them. “Fine. Let’s do this. How do you know Daredevil, Miss Page?”

“Don’t answer that,” Matt said immediately.

A muscle twitched in Nadeem’s jaw. “Well, Daredevil definitely seems to know you.”

Karen couldn’t take it anymore. “That’s not Daredevil.”

“Karen,” Matt warned.

“What?” she hissed. “He’s not Daredevil.”

“I got a pretty good look at him too,” Nadeem countered. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Do you have a point, Agent Nadeem?” Matt asked dangerously.

Nadeem tilted his head at Matt. “According to Miss Page’s own articles…” He slid a document across the table. “She’s met Daredevil at least twice. Which makes her a valuable witness in tracking down the man responsible for the Bulletin attack.”

“That psycho wasn’t Daredevil,” Karen said flatly.

“Then who was he?”

Karen glanced at Matt, but his eyes had fluttered closed behind his glasses. “I don’t know.”

“But you know he wasn’t Daredevil.”

Matt's eyes opened and he started to open his mouth, but Karen beat him to it. “Dig a little deeper.” She pushed the article back toward him. “Why don’t you _read_ everything. Daredevil doesn’t kill people. Ever. It’s not him.”

Nadeem slumped back in his chair. “So you keep saying.”

“Did you ever look into Felix Manning?”

Resting his elbows on the table, Matt touched the spot on his chest where she knew for a fact that his jacket was covering up a hole gouged by scissors. “Karen, stop.”

“Red Lion Bank?” she pressed, ignoring him. “ _Any_ of the leads that I dropped in your lap?”

Nadeem straightened up. “And just how did you find those leads, Miss Page?”

She stiffened. “I told you. I ask better questions.”

“He dropped your name, Miss Page. He used your gun to murder someone, and in this entire shitshow you’re the one person he didn’t lay a finger on, and now you’re telling me you’ve got these special insights into Fisk’s whole operation?”

“She’s trying to help you,” Matt snapped. “The fact that she’s closer to figuring out what Fisk’s game is than you are doesn’t make her a criminal. Last I checked, being smarter than the FBI isn’t a crime.”

Karen put a hand on his leg under the table. He was rigid with tension. “That psycho in a suit did you a huge favor,” she told Nadeem icily. “Now there’s no one left to tell the world what a fool Fisk is making of the FBI.”

He leaned forward. “Did you know Daredevil was going to attack the Bulletin? Is that why you brought your gun last night?”

“Excuse me, Agent.” Matt’s voice was like knives. “Are you investigating Daredevil or my client?”

Nadeem dragged his gaze over to Matt. “Both.”

“Are you suspecting Miss Page of independent crimes, or only of involvement with Daredevil?”

Nadeem squared his jaw. “I just need to know if she’s an accomplice. How’d you find Jasper Evans, Miss Page?”

“Don’t answer that,” Matt ordered.

“Why, Mr. Murdock? Is it a secret?” Shoving his chair back, Nadeem stood up. “Just like the events at the prison that held Jasper Evans are a secret.”

Matt stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“You entered that prison falsely using Franklin Nelson’s identity and contacted an Albanian gang, and all the security tapes seem to have disappeared. Can you explain that, Mr. Murdock?”

Matt did _what?_ Karen could only hope Nadeem couldn’t read her shock. She pulled her hand away from Matt’s leg and saw fresh blood on her fingers.

Matt was smiling grimly. “I lost my ID and the situation was urgent. I can’t speak as to what happened with the cameras. But we’ve gotten sidetracked.” His voice sharpened. “It’s too bad FBI’s too busy giving Fisk room service to run an actual investigation, but that doesn’t put any blame on my client. You want to know what Miss Page can tell you about the Bulletin attacker, and she’s told you everything she can. Now tell me, are you charging her with anything?”

“I’m considering obstruction of justice if she doesn’t start talking.”

Karen’s stomach flipped.

Matt spoke lightning-fast. “Given that you just said you suspect Miss Page of being an accomplice, she’s within her fifth amendment rights to not answer your questions, and a judge wouldn’t give you two seconds on an obstruction of justice claim just because she’s chosen not to say anything you might find incriminating. We’re done here.” He stood up, and immediately put one hand on the back of the chair for balance.

“Matt.” She also got up, but couldn’t risk touching him in case she hurt him. Who knew how many places he was still bleeding from?

Nadeem took a slow step to the side, starting to make his way around the table. “You promised me answers, Murdock.”

“Fine. I’ll—” Matt’s grip on the chair faltered. He caught himself before he fell, but the blood drained from his face.

Karen darted forward to help take his weight and felt warm blood through the fabric of his jacket. “He needs help!”

Swearing, Nadeem hurried to the door and stuck his head into the hallway, calling for first aid.

“M’fine.” Matt had a death grip on the chair.

“You idiot!” He was losing too much blood. “Are you _trying_ to pass out?”

“Well.” He managed a cocky smile. “They can't make me answer their questions if I’m unconscious, can they?”

Of all the… “What’s _wrong_ with you?”

“So, so many things. Listen, Karen…” His voice tightened—with pain or anxiety, she wasn’t sure. “I can’t take care of myself if I’m worried about you. Tell me you’ll get out of here.”

“And what are you gonna do when you wake up in handcuffs?” she demanded.

“That,” he said weakly, “is a problem for future me. I can take care of myself. Just promise me you’ll get out of here.”

Karen pressed her hands to her mouth. He was serious. He was _serious_.

Letting the door fall closed, Nadeem stalked back towards them. “Mr. Murdock,” he began.

Panic spiked across Matt’s expression. Not for himself. For her.

“I promise, Matt,” she blurted out.

Her heartbeat must’ve convinced him because he gave a quick nod and pushed himself upright. Fast. Way too fast. His face paled, his eyes closed, and he dropped to the floor.

Nadeem instantly crouched beside him to check his pulse while Karen slipped past them both. Ducking out the door, she dodged someone else in a suit bearing a first aid kit, keeping her head down as she wove her way down a crowded hall echoing with ringing phones. She was leaving because Matt was right—she couldn’t help him here. Not with this.

But she was going to figure out who the Daredevil imposter really was.

First, though, she was going to the hospital. Matt thought he could take care of himself, and maybe that was true, but she was still going to do everything in her power to make sure Foggy was at Matt’s side when he woke up.

To make sure Matt wasn’t alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I totally didn't plan this fic to have another chapter but two of you requested this scene, so...enjoy!

Ray

Murdock’s pulse was present, but weak. Someone dropped down beside him, opening up the first aid kit, but Ray was paying more attention to the lawyer bleeding out on the floor. He tore the shirt open, not particularly caring when a button broke off, and sat back in shock.

He’d expected blood, obviously. Murdock’s gray suit was already freshly-stained when he walked in the door, which led Ray to assume he’d been at the Bulletin for the attack but somehow escaped before any agents found him, only to show up here to help Page. But it was shocking _how much_ blood there was.

How did Murdock get from the Bulletin to headquarters without passing out?

And how did he manage their whole conversation? Did the guy not feel pain?

His fellow agent—Erika, her name was Erika—let out a low hiss of breath as she started wiping away the blood. “Nadeem, are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

Yep, and it wasn’t pretty. Murdock’s bare chest was layered with wounds and Nadeem was no forensics expert, but some of those scars were definitely a year old. At _least_. Erika passed him sanitizing wipes and Ray let his hands clean some of Murdock’s cuts while his brain tried to piece this evidence together with everything else that he knew.

Like the fact that Murdock and his partner helped put Fisk away the first time around. Ray hadn’t given that too much weight—their firm fell apart shortly afterwards, and Fisk was good at getting people to change their minds about the lines they were willing to cross. But now Ray couldn’t help wondering if Murdock hadn’t crossed any lines willingly.

Ray took another long look at the injuries. Maybe Fisk was right that Murdock started working for him. Maybe Murdock was his accomplice. But maybe Fisk had needed to carve Murdock’s cooperation out of him first.

Ray felt a stab of guilt. Half of him wanted to lean into it—if only to embrace his humanity, which he could practically feel slipping away the more time he spent dealing with Fisk. Half of him wanted to tamp it down so he could do his job: protect lives. Even if Murdock _had_ been unwilling, his perjurious behavior could’ve put countless people in danger. Could still be putting people in danger.

“Ray.” Erika’s voice was soft beside him. “These aren’t just knife wounds.”

“I know,” Ray said shortly. They weren’t looking at evidence of a guy getting roughed up in an alley for balking at doing Fisk’s dirty work. There were marks of serrated blades and one particular wound that looked like it’d been left by something more like a fishhook than your standard knife.

This looked like torture.

 

Murdock remained unconscious for the trip to the hospital, which was probably something to be thankful for, given the sheer number of spots he was still bleeding from. A blood transfusion and several stitches later, Ray sat in Murdock's hopsital room, lowering his phone after he finished talking to Seema.

Talking? _Lying_ , lying about when he’d arrived at the Bulletin and what he’d encountered—or hadn’t encountered—when he’d gotten there. He rubbed at his forehead, listening to the lethargic beeping of Murdock’s heart monitor, going around and around in his head with all the ways to justify keeping secrets from his wife.

Not just keeping secrets. _Lying_.

It wasn’t too late to call her back. Explain. But that conversation would be better to have in person, not while he was sitting here in a hospital waiting for a blind lawyer to—

Murdock’s eyes opened. Not that they focused anywhere. Then, to Ray’s shock, he pushed himself upright, shifting until his legs were closer to the edge. The man wanted to get up. Worse, the man clearly thought he _could_ get up.

“Don’t move,” Ray said quickly. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

Turning his head in Ray’s direction, Murdock let one hand drift up to his face like he had to confirm that he was no longer wearing his red sunglasses. “Why am I here?” he demanded, voice raspy,

“Did you miss the part where I said you’ve lost a lot of blood?”

“I didn’t need a _hospital_ for this.” Murdock slid his legs over the edge of the bed.

Ray sprang forward to stop him and didn’t miss the way that Murdock’s hands clenched into fists at his sudden approach. It made sense; the man had been recently assaulted. “I’m only putting my hands on you to keep you from falling over,” Ray said clearly, moving his hands to Murdock’s shoulders. “You need to stay here until you’re cleared by the nurses.”

His expression was stormy. “I want an AMA.”

Ray switched tactics. “I have some questions and you promised me answers.”

“Take your hands off my shoulders.”

Immediately, Ray complied. He even took a long step backwards. “Just a quick conversation, that’s all I want.”

Murdock clenched his jaw. “Fine. Shoot.”

At last. “You’re pretty banged up,” Ray began, choosing his words with care. “And it looks like you’ve been banged up for a while.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Ray collected his patience. “Who did this?”

“I don’t see the relevance of this line of questioning, Agent.”

What? “Maybe you don’t understand the situation here,” Ray said, speaking slowly. “You’ve been hurt. Repeatedly. I have a badge. I can look into it, maybe I can help—”

“Not your jurisdiction,” Murdock mumbled. “Assault’s a state crime.”

Ray folded his arms across his chest, doing his best to appear nonthreatening. “So you were assaulted?”

“Hypothetically,” Murdock said swiftly.

“There’s no one here but us and I checked the room for bugs myself. You can tell me who did this to you.”

“That simple?”

“That simple,” Ray said firmly.

Murdock sighed, the sigh of someone who’d had to say the same thing too many times to too many people. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, Agent, but I’m blind. Accidents happen.”

Ray’s mouth fell open. “You’re kidding me.” When Murdock just shrugged helplessly, Ray leaned closer. “I know how to read injuries, Counselor, but even if I didn’t, I know my way around polygraph machines. And that heart monitor you’re hooked up to might not be what I’m used to working with, but I’m pretty sure there’s no reason for your heart to skip like that except that you’re lying.”

Those sightless eyes widened.

“So let’s try that again,” Ray said quietly. “Who did this to you?”

Murdock kept his mouth shut. He glared towards the monitor.

“Listen.” Hands on his hips, Ray shifted his weight. “You’re not under arrest. I’m not going to use anything you say against you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Gonna need more than your word on that. Government agents are allowed to lie to suspects.”

“I’m not lying,” Ray snapped, wishing for a second that he could hook himself up to the monitor. He cast around in his brain for anything that might be reassuring. “Look, let’s turn this into a plea negotiation. Then nothing you say is admissible against you in criminal court. Right? Isn’t that the law?”

“And what am I being charged with?”

Ray glowered at the ceiling, running a hand through his hair. Then he grabbed the chair he’d used earlier, pulled it closer to the bed, and sat. “Are you working with Fisk?”

“No.”

The heart monitor beeped steadily. “Are you trying to stop Fisk?”

Murdock squared his jaw. “Yes.”

“That’s why you went to the prison to find Jasper Evans?”

“You would’ve gone there too, if you’d thought of it.”

Ray shifted to the edge of the chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Is that why you disappeared a few months ago?”

Murdock froze, and his heart beat faster even before he spoke. “When?”

“Not long after that building went down in Midland Circle. Reports say you were kidnapped by two of your clients, two vigilantes involved with Danny Rand’s kidnapping.”

Murdock had the audacity to laugh. “That’s a warped version of the facts, Agent, but it doesn’t matter. Midland Circle isn’t connected to Fisk.”

Interesting: the heart monitor stayed steady. “Is Fisk behind any of your injuries?”

Murdock wet his lips. “Some of them.”

Some? Ray narrowed his eyes. “What about the rest?”

No answer.

“Murdock.”

“I plead the fifth.”

For pity’s sake. “You can’t just—”

“Yes, I can,” he snapped.

“Why? Something about those injuries incriminating?”

His heart was beating faster and from the look on his face, he could hear it as well as Ray. “See, that’s exactly the kind of question the fifth amendment is designed to protect me from. Are we done here, Agent?”

Ray clenched his jaw. “Just one more thing. Your client, Miss Page, seemed pretty adamant that the man who attacked the Bulletin isn’t Daredevil. Care to shed any light on that?”

Murdock flashed a dangerous smile and Ray just had time to regret asking such an open-ended question before he was answering: “The extent of what Miss Page may or may not know about the identity of the man who wore a Daredevil mask to attack the Bulletin is something I can’t necessarily speak to, and you’re just as familiar with her articles on the subject as I am. Whether she’s basing her conclusion solely on her understanding of Daredevil’s modus operandi or on something else is irrelevant to—”

“But do _you_ agree that the man who attacked the Bulletin isn’t Daredevil?” Ray interrupted.

Murdock hesitated. “Yes.”

No lie. “Based on Karen Page’s opinion?”

He hesitated again. “Yes.”

But there was a nervous skip to his heart. Ray formulated a new question. “But do you any have personal knowledge to lead you to agree with Karen Page’s conclusion?”

Murdock took a deep breath. “Agent Nadeem, I want an AMA.”


	3. Chapter 3

Matt

Everything hurt. Which, you know, wasn’t unusual for him. But usually everything hurt when he was walking away from a victory.

This?

People died last night. Foggy and Karen could’ve been among them. Because Matt wasn’t good enough. He rubbed at the stitching holding his shoulder together where the scissors had lodged in his flesh. Sure, Matt landed some hits. But the suit was designed to protect against that kind of impact.

The suit. The imposter was wearing Matt’s suit. Matt would know the smell, the _feel_ of it anywhere. Except the nuns tore apart the real suit and buried it in about twenty different dumpsters. Somehow, Fisk got ahold of a new suit, then found a murderer to wear it.

It felt in many ways like Matt had outgrown the suit, but the suit still deserved better than this. Matt was going to...Matt was going to fix this. Just as soon as he escaped the hospital. Nadeem seemed to know better than to try to stop him. That, or he knew better than to ignore the way his phone was ringing.

As for Matt, he only had one hallway to go when he heard a rapid heartbeat approaching. Matt stopped dead, tightening his grip on his cane, which one of the paramedics had been thoughtful enough to leave with the bleeding, blind lawyer. It wasn’t safe to be around that particular heartbeat. That heartbeat was a distraction, a distraction that would get them both killed. But Matt had been _this close_ to never hearing it again. So even when his brain screamed at him to get away, Matt’s feet kept him locked in place.

Foggy rounded a corner and skidded to a stop at the other end of the hallway. He smelled like blood and printer paper. “You’re awake.”

Matt’s mouth felt dry. “Yeah.”

“Sorry, man. Karen said…she wanted me to be there when you woke up.”

“Agent Nadeem beat you to it,” Matt said. Even to his ears, his voice sounded bitter.

“You’re…” Foggy risked a step closer, then another. “You’re okay?”

Matt raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, no. You look like a water balloon someone mistook for a pincushion.”

Matt’s lips twisted at the mental image. “A water balloon.”

Two more steps closer. “What did Nadeem want?”

“To know if Fisk tortured me to get Nelson and Murdock to do his dirty legal work. Don’t worry, I didn’t say anything that would implicate you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Foggy muttered under his breath. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “So you don’t need my help. Karen said…” He trailed off uncertainly.

“I’m fine, Fogs.” The nickname slipped out before he could swallow it back. He started to move stiffly down the hall, angling to brush past Foggy. “I need to figure out who that guy is.”

“Whoa, slow down.” Foggy grabbed Matt’s arm, causing Matt to hiss in pain. Foggy’s fingers sprang apart. “Sorry! Where do you think you’re going?”

“I need to find the man who made the suit. If Fisk got to him…”

“I’m coming with you,” Foggy announced.

Matt stopped. Turned around. Tilted his head. “Why?”

“Because…” Foggy sounded confused, like he didn’t think he needed a reason.

Matt started limping past him again. “I don’t need you getting hurt.”

“ _Matt_ , slow down.” Foggy’s feet shuffled uncertainly for a second, but then he made a break for it, catching up to Matt and grabbing his arm, not even seeming to care when Matt tensed as his stitches strained. “We need to think this through, work togeth—”

Matt whipped around. “You almost _died_. You and Karen, both of you could’ve been killed, all because I tried to drag you into this. I should’ve just dealt with Jasper Evans myself.”

Foggy suddenly sounded so, so tired. “Fine, Matt. You do what you have to. But Karen and I are gonna keep working together. We’re getting dinner at her place tonight, and before you decide you don’t want anything to do with us, let me just say that part of the goal is reinforcing her legal defence, and I know you care about _that_ if nothing else.”

Ouch. Matt leaned more heavily on his cane. “I have to do this, Foggy,” he said quietly.

“Not by yourself you don’t, and I’m not gonna cheer you on for martyring yourself. I—” His voice cracked. “I can’t do that. I can’t be happy about that.”

Taking a risk, Matt set his hand briefly on Foggy’s shoulder. “I’m not asking you to be happy about it. I’m…” He took a deep breath because it meant something that Foggy was _here_ , that Foggy came all the way to the hospital when…when Matt hadn’t bothered to visit Foggy in the hospital after he’d been shot. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Foggy asked warily.

Matt pressed his lips together. “I don’t know. I just am.”

 

“You’re missing the _point_ ,” Matt snarled, tugging on his black shirt too roughly and feeling rivulets of blood run down his side. He’d made it back to the church after shaking Foggy off his tail with all the skill Stick ever taught him, although he knew he didn't have long before Foggy guessed where he'd gone. Which was fine; Matt needed to leave anyway. He felt unsettled in the basement. Like he couldn’t just disappear into its dark corners the way he was able to before.

“Spell it out for me,” Sister Maggie said, her voice torn between concern and annoyance. She sounded like that most of the time she talked to him.

Matt started on his boots next, lacing them up with fierce, quick pulls of the string. “He didn’t just find someone to wear my suit, he found someone as fast and as skilled as I’ve ever seen. And I couldn’t take him! He—he found someone to kill me!”

“Matthew,” Sister Maggie tried to say.

“Can’t believe I was so—stupid enough to think that I had Fisk cornered.” Standing up, he ran his hand through his hair in agitation. “He _knew_ I’d find a witness, and I just brought the sheep to slaughter. Jasper Evans is _dead_. He’s dead and—” He clenched his jaw. “He leaves a son behind and that’s on _me_.”

“Matthew.” She drew gingerly closer.

He jerked away from her, shot to his feet. He hadn’t even meant to talk to her when he got back; he’d just wanted to change out of his bloody clothes so he could start tracking down Melvin. But she’d materialized like she had some kind of sixth sense, and then she’d asked just _one_ question (“Oh, Matthew, what happened to you?”) and he couldn’t keep the words in his head. Part of his mind told him to stop throwing a tantrum, but the rest of him latched onto the fact that she was _listening_ and just…ran with it.

Almost literally. He stalked towards the other side of the room to grab the mask, but the leftover effects of the anesthesia still twisted his sense of the world. He clipped a pillar with his shoulder, felt stitches tug, and whirled around to punch the stone.

Not one of his better ideas.

“ _Matthew_.” Sister Maggie grabbed his wrist. Not one of her better ideas. What did she think she could do, stop him?

“Foggy,” he rasped, hearing blood drip from his torn knuckles. “Foggy and Karen, he could’ve killed both of them. And there would’ve been _nothing_ I could’ve done to stop him.” He breathed in shakily. “Nothing.”

“But he didn’t,” she said. Her heart wasn’t as calm as her voice.

“I listened to you. I listened to you and they almost died.” Turning around, he pressed the back of his head against the stone. He wasn’t being fair—he’d known he’d need Karen’s help, at least, as soon as he learned about Jasper Evans. That hadn’t been Sister Maggie’s decision. He drew in another unsteady breath. “I’m such—such an idiot.”

“No,” Sister Maggie said, surprising him. “I told you to involve your friends, and I made things worse.” She drew closer, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “I'm used to putting on a brave face when people bring their troubles to the church. And I find that they don't just bring their troubles, they bring their answers, too, if you let them talk enough.” She gave a small shake of her head. “But what you're dealing with is so…far beyond my experience.”

Beyond his, too.

“I just want you to be safe,” she finished softly.

There was no lie in her heartbeat. He let his eyes fall closed. “Why?” When she didn’t answer, he dredged up more words. “Why are you doing this for me?”

She could come up with any number of excuses, but he had a rebuttal for all of them. She could insist that she was a nun and it was her job—but there were other nuns who could care for him. She could call it a favor for Father Lantom—but that didn’t require this much investment.

“I need a reason?” she asked, her voice falsely casual.

He opened his eyes, aimed them at her face. “Sister, why?”

She seemed to waver on the edge of something. “Because I care about you,” she said at last, then added, “That’s all.”

 _That’s all._ Like that wasn’t everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little impromptu AU is giving me feels???


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, okay, this is an actual WIP now. Cool. Gotta admit, did not see that coming.

Karen

It was a gamble, coming here to the church. At the simplest level, she was gambling time—coming here could easily be a waste of time if, when Matt heard her, he snuck out without her. He grew up here, right? So he probably knew a thousand ways to leave this church undetected. She could end up waiting here until night, only to find out that he’d disappeared hours ago.

But Karen was too familiar with stakeouts that might go nowhere to let that stop her. After all, she was a reporter.

Well. Her throat tightened. She _used_ to be a reporter. Without warning and completely without her permission, tears stung in her eyes as her brain replayed everything Ellison said, and this…this was why she’d gone looking for Matt, because the last thing she needed was to sit somewhere with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company.

And yet here she was. Sitting in a pew, just sitting and thinking and painfully aware that the bigger risk in coming here was to something far more fragile than _time_. She was still furious with Matt, with his precious secrets and his holier-than-thou messiah complex. Pretending he was _dead_ , not bothering to tell her. Which meant he either didn’t know how many nights she’d replayed that awful moment in the precinct when she’d realized he was gone (either in dreams or stuck on repeat in her conscious mind, reliving it again and again and again until four in the morning), or he just didn’t care. She wasn’t sure which was worse.

But despite that, working together with him to capture Jasper Evans gave her a tiny hint of what they’d used to be. And then he'd advocated for her against the barrage of Agent Nadeem’s questions. After everything he put her through, she knew she’d had no right to feel as safe with him as she had. But safe was exactly the right word for it.

And he’d risked so much just to be there for her. He couldn’t have known, when he walked through that door, that Nadeem wouldn't cuff him then and there.

So, all right, maybe the bitterness she’d deliberately maintained since realizing he was alive was cracking a bit, leaving something soft and oh so vulnerable underneath. She folded her arms across her chest, sitting rigidly in the pew, and wondered again if this was worth it.

Ellison’s words rang in her ears. If Matt was in this building, he definitely knew she was there too. And if Matt couldn’t do her the decency of _talking_ to her after she lost her _job_ (and her _friend_ ) for him, she was going to start screaming.

“Karen?”

Oh. She stood up, turned around, and saw him standing there, dressed in black under a shabby greenish jacket that looked almost familiar. No sunglasses. She felt the tension in her chest loosen a little. Sure, it was possible that this conversation would be just another round of him lecturing her, but…she didn’t think so. He hadn’t lectured when he’d come to ask for her help with Jasper Evans, had he?

(And even if he _did_ lecture her, at least he’d come and found her, at least he hadn’t slunk away without a word. How pathetic was she that this basic human kindness meant so much?)

“What’re you doing here?” he asked.

“Oh, you know, I’ve been thinking about becoming a nun.”

He squinted in her direction, then shrugged and averted his eyes. “I’m not staying.”

She gestured at his jacket. “I figured. So…Nadeem let you go.”

“He doesn’t think I’m working with Fisk anymore.” Matt’s mouth twisted wryly. “At least, not intentionally.”

“That’s good. That’s really good. So you’re not…wanted?”

“Maybe as a witness.” He stuck his hands in the oversized pockets. “Or maybe they’re playing the long game just to get me to cooperate when they arrest me later. Who knows?”

He didn’t sound very disturbed about it either way. A small rock of disconcertion settled in her stomach. The man in front of her was _Matt_ , but also…not. “Where’re you going now?"

She was surprised when he actually answered. “Gotta find the man who made my suit. Melvin Potter. The one the imposter wore, it smelled like Melvin."

“You know where to find him?” She tried to make it sound like a genuine question, not like she was hoping he’d say, _Actually, no, Karen, please help._

He was nodding. “I know where his shop is, and even if he’s not there, I can probably track him.” He paused. “By scent.”

What was that, some kind of test? Or just a brutal reminder that their days of playing lawyer and office manager were over? “Good luck, Matt," was all she said.

He nodded again and turned around. Took a few steps back up the aisle, then stopped. Turned back to her. “You, uh…what’s your plan?”

Standing up, she tucked her hair behind her ears. “Am I supposed to have one?”

“I mean, you could write about the Bulletin attack.” He frowned. “Or…maybe that’s too close to home. I understand. But, you know, you could…you could still write about Jasper Evans. He…his death isn’t a smoking gun, but it’s too convenient for Fisk not to raise suspicion.”

She swallowed thickly. “Bit of a stretch, jumping from the Bulletin attack to Fisk.”

He lifted his chin a little, a surprisingly earnest expression on his face. “You can connect the dots for the public. Jasper Evans attacked Fisk, Jasper Evans got out of solitary, Jasper Evans wanted to make a statement, and Jasper Evans ended up dead. You can convince them.”

She sniffed. “Yeah, okay. I would, it’s just…I, um…” She forced a smile that he couldn’t even see—why did she bother? “I kind of lost my job.”

His eyes widened. Like he cared. “What?”

“Ellison. He was pissed about the attack, and—” She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. She wasn’t going to cry _here_ , in front of _him_. She _wasn’t_. He didn’t deserve to witness this. “He wanted me to help him figure out who—who Daredevil really is, and now he knows that I _know_ , but…”

“He fired you for knowing who Daredevil is?”

“He fired me for refusing to tell him who Daredevil is,” she corrected him quietly.

His mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything.

“It’s fine. We have bigger problems. I just—” She cut herself off. No point in explaining that the worst of it wasn’t that she lost her job. The worst of it was that she lost Ellison. Her friend. Someone who—no, it was stupid, she didn’t need replacement father figures. She was a grown woman.

Matt edged closer to her, forehead creased. Right, because he could smell her tears even though she was doing a pretty good job of keeping her voice from shaking. Privacy, what privacy? “I’m sorry, Karen.”

“Not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?”

He was still such an idiot, and it turned her strained smile into something a little more genuine even as she wiped at her eyes. “It was my choice, Matt.” Then she waited, daring him to argue that she wouldn’t have been in that position at all if he hadn’t told her the truth, waiting for him to close himself off from her and say he shouldn’t have told her in the first place.

“You could’ve told him," he said.

Something warm tried to spread through her chest. “No,” she said flatly. “I couldn’t have.”

“Why not?”

He sounded so genuinely uncertain. She glared up at the ceiling to keep from getting lost in his eyes. “Because you’re my _friend_ , Matt. It’s kind of insulting that you don’t get that.”

“Sorry,” he said quickly. Maybe automatically. When she glanced at him again, he was wetting his lips, head slightly bowed. “I can’t…”

She raised her eyebrows.

His fingers twitched frustratedly. “Is there any way that I can fix this?”

What, her job? The pain from Ellison’s disappointment? The fact that Jasper Evans was dead? She just stared at him.

He briefly clenched his jaw, then spoke quickly, like his brain wasn’t quite caught up with his mouth: “D’you wanna come with me?”

“To…find the guy who made your suit?” she asked skeptically.

He looked just as skeptical with himself. “You could talk to him, or just...be there. If you, uh, don't have anything else you're doing.”

Be there?

“I’ll keep you safe, Karen,” he promised.

It took her back to sitting in the old office, hands wrapped around a mug of tea that Foggy stole, looking at these two strangers who were suddenly the only people in the world who might possibly be on her side. Matt had sat close to her, worried not at all for himself but entirely for her, even though just being in the same room with her put her in the crosshairs of the people who’d murdered Daniel Fisher. Something almost instinctual had made her trust him then.

Right now, the trust wasn’t instinctual at all. It had to be a deliberate choice. She took a deep breath. “Okay.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just fyi, I'm kinda splicing some scenes together for the sake of efficiency and avoiding redundancy.

Karen

“You can stop at any point,” Matt reminded her in the alley. The black mask was secured over his face and it was like they were in the rain outside of her apartment again, back when he was still a stranger both in and out of the mask, but she felt just as safe with him either way.

“It’s just a dumpster,” she said. “I can handle it.”

He almost smiled. “All right.” He hopped onto the dumpster, then held out his hand. She didn’t take it, scrambling up onto the dumpster on her own. He let his hand drop, took two steps towards a fire escape, and jumped up, grasping the railing and swinging his body up and around until he could get leverage with his foot. From there, he scrambled over the railing to land on the fire escape. The whole thing took about two seconds. Then he cocked his head back down at her.

She pursed her lips. “Okay. Help.”

Mouth quirking into an actual smile, he crouched down and slid his hand through a gap in the railing. She slipped her hand into his and…oh, he was strong. He anchored her as she hooked her arm around the railing until she could wriggle up. But as soon as she was safely on the escape, he dropped her hand and put distance between them. He hopped onto the edge of the railing like a cat, and from there onto the roof. Then he waited.

She appreciated that he didn’t offer his help before she asked for it, but she wasn’t sure if that was because he didn’t want to assume she needed it or because he felt uncomfortable with close physical contact. Regardless, there was no way she was balancing on the smooth, slick edge of a fire escape railing on her own. “Help?”

He reached down quickly enough to really throw the possibility that he was simply avoiding close physical contact into question.

And then she was on the roof, wind catching her hair. They weren’t even that high up, but something about being above the crowded streets, above the pedestrians and street vendors…it was like a whole other world. “This is amazing,” she breathed.

The smile became more like a grin. “You think? C’mon, it gets better.”

She was highly aware that whatever route he’d found for her was definitely slower than what he normally would take. She had to work up the courage for the farthest jumps, and there was one that she flat-out refused to attempt. He didn’t argue, didn’t seem disappointed. Just nodded and found them a new route.

And it was nice. They didn’t really talk about any of the things they needed to talk about, but it was nice.

 

“No one’s here,” Matt whispered, standing outside a door, the wind whipping at the tendrils of his mask.

“You sure?”

From the way he cocked his head, he was probably giving her some kind of _look_.

“Okay, fine, I believe you,” she mumbled.

“Good.” He cracked the door open, revealing a dark room dotted with stacks of wooden pallets. He held the door open for her, but moved smoothly in front of her before she could get more than a few inches into the room. She watched, mildly fascinated, as he made his way straight to a metal grate blocking off part of the room. Running his fingers over it, he gave an experimental tug, but the screen held firm. He let out a frustrated exhale.

“Matt.” She stood close to him, peering through the gaps in the metal. There was another room, with another metal door made of some kind of metal fencing. “The suit’s in there.”

His head tilted. “No, it’s…it’s different. Never been worn.”

“It looks exactly the same,” she insisted.

“Why would he make two?”

“Prototype?” she suggested. “Or a—”

“Shh.” His hand was suddenly on her arm, his grip warm and solid. “Melvin, right outside. He’s talking to someone on the phone.”

“What?”

The next thing she knew, he was manhandling her behind one of the pallets. “Stay here.”

This didn’t seem like a good time to argue. She ducked down, but peered through a gap in the wood as Matt melted into the shadows across the room just as the door opened.

A man shuffled in. “Okay,” he was grunting into his phone. “Love you.” He returned his phone to his pocket and headed straight to a keypad next to the metal screen.

Matt waited until he’d punched in the code and the screen was rising to step out into the open. “Betsy’s your parole officer.”

Betsy?

Melvin whipped around, and for a grown man he seemed strangely like a puppy caught stealing food off a table. “Please don’t tell anyone. It’s against the rules.”

“I don’t care what you do with Betsy, Melvin,” Matt said, stalking forward. There was something dangerous in his voice, something Karen wasn’t used to hearing from the lawyer she’d worked with. “You know why I’m here.”

Shifting his weight, Melvin shoved his hands into his pockets. “Fisk made me make the suit. That man hurt you?” Matt didn’t answer, but that didn’t seem to matter. “Sorry.”

“Who was he?”

“Didn’t tell me his name. I—I made you a new one.” He gestured over his shoulder. “To protect against him. Make it a fair fight.”

Matt drew closer. “I don’t want the suit anymore.”

“You don’t like it?” Melvin asked nervously.

“I’ve outgrown what it stood for.”

What had it stood for, exactly?

“What is this place?” Matt now stood right in front of Melvin. “I’ve been to your workshop. It was burned own.”

“ _I_ burned it down,” Melvin said, lifting his chin a little. “’Cause I didn’t wanna help Fisk. But…he made me a new shop, and he threatened Betsy.”

It was the wrong thing to say. “People died,” Matt growled, “because you helped him, Melvin.”

Melvin looked at the ground. “Sorry. Sorry.”

Scoffing, Matt brushed past Melvin, making his way into the second part of the room, through the open doorway. Melvin followed him, but stopped short at the door. From where she was crouched, Karen couldn’t see Matt anymore, though she could hear him. “Why is this here?”

“That’s not the one he wore. Fisk made me make two.”

The hairs on the back of Karen’s neck stood up. _Get out of there, Matt._

Matt’s voice drifted softly back to her. “Why?”

That was when Melvin moved, grabbing the door and slamming it shut, rattling the fencing. “Ask him yourself.”

Grabbing her gun, Karen sprang from her hiding place so that by the time Melvin turned around, he was staring down the barrel.

“Karen!” Matt ran to the screen, gripping one of the new suits’ billy clubs in his hand.

She ignored him. Easy to do when he was locked in a separate room. She cocked the gun in Melvin’s face. “Let him out.”

Melvin stared at her. “Who’re you?”

“Let him _out_.”

“I can’t,” Melvin said helplessly, still staring at her. “I have to go now. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Then why would you trap me here?” Matt demanded.

He couldn’t see Melvin’s line of sight. “Matt,” she whispered. “I think he’s talking to me.” She didn’t lower the gun. “Melvin,” she said slowly. “Why can’t I be here?”

“S’not about you.” Melvin sent a panicked glance back at Matt. “Just s’posed to be him.”

Matt dug at the fence with his club. “Tell me who wore he suit. I will _find_ him, I will put an _end_ to this.”

Fear lit up Melvin’s whole face. “I can’t! Fisk’ll know, and he’ll hurt Betsy.”

“If you really loved her, you’d cut her lose!” Matt’s voice turned strained as he tried to pry open the door. “Because life doesn’t work with _Betsys_.”

Karen had never heard such bitterness in his voice. She looked from Melvin to Matt, and then from Melvin to Matt to the suit. Fisk wouldn’t have let him make the suit _for_ Matt, not if Fisk was trying to convince the public that Daredevil was a murderer, so why—

Matt let out a yell as he leveraged the door open. Melvin whipped around to block him and the door cracked against his shoulder before he managed to grab Matt.

Matt shoved him backwards against Karen’s gun and all three of them froze like it might go off on its own. But then Matt did something to trigger Melvin, or vice versa, and before Karen could blink, Matt had grabbed Melvin and thrown him bodily to the side. He lashed out with the metal club and Melvin could only try desperately to block the barrage of strikes.

But Matt was still injured from the Bulletin attack, and as soon as Melvin got an opening, he caught Matt under the chin with his fist, sending Matt stumbling back. Now he had time to snatch a serrated saw blade.

Karen fired her gun, aiming to shoot the blade from Melvin’s hand. She missed and the bullet whizzed past him, but it made him spin around with a yelp.

Matt pressed his hands to his ears as the gunshot rang through the room. “Stop! Someone’s coming!”

Melvin’s eyes flared wide with horror. “I’m not supposed to be here!” With that, he hurled the blade at Matt, who ducked so the blade lodged in the wall.

Matt darted forward, kicking the other man’s legs out from under him and catching him in a chokehold before Melvin could hit the ground. A kick to the back of Melvin’s knee made him sag in Matt’s grip.

“It’s the FBI, Melvin,” Matt hissed in his ear. “Why would Fisk send—”

“Matt,” Karen breathed. “They’re framing you for being Daredevil.”

The visible half of his face paled. “Melvin,” he groaned. “ _C’mon_. He’s _tricking_ you.”

Huddled on the floor, Melvin hid his face as tears ran down his cheeks. “Betsy’s all I have.”

“Once Fisk has me, he will _kill_ you both.”

Moving carefully, Karen knelt in front of Melvin, pretending she didn’t notice Matt’s furious headshake warning her away. “Melvin, talk to me. Who did Fisk make the suit for?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Melvin sobbed. “He never told me his name.”

“Who else was there?”

“A thin man who was older than him, I don’t know.”

Karen swallowed. “Did he have an accent?”

Melvin kept his head turned away. “Yeah, yeah, he—”

“What did they talk about?”

Melvin suddenly lifted his head, wiping at his tears. “The man Fisk made the suit for. He said he’s with the FBI.”

But before Karen could reply, Matt was grabbing her, pulling her behind a pallet just as the main door swung open.

“FBI! Don’t move!”


	6. Chapter 6

Matt

It was definitely a breach of her boundaries, but getting them both out alive seemed a little more important, so Matt buried his face in her neck and pressed his hands to his ears a second before something rolled into the room and exploded. A _bang_ stabbed directly into his ears, leaving them ringing in terrifying similarity to what Midland Circle did to him.

But he breathed in Karen’s scent and felt her pulse even though he couldn’t hear it, and it grounded him just enough to get his bearings back. He gave her a push towards a back door, but she resisted. Honestly, he wasn’t even surprised anymore.

Then, to his horror, she raised her gun.

He knew she liked to carry it; he’d smelled it before. But he always assumed it was more of a security blanket, or maybe a way to ward off danger if she got into trouble. Not something she actually planned on _using_. He needed to kill Fisk, sure, but Fisk was different. Fisk was evil and Matt knew that for a fact. These agents, who knew if they were really working for Fisk? Maybe they were just following orders. Maybe they had no idea what was really going on.

He shoved her harder. Her sleeve snagged on the wooden pallet, but she got the hint, stumbling backwards, keeping low to the ground. Through the ringing in his ears, Matt heard one of the agents turn towards her, and suddenly he couldn’t afford to hide anymore.

Bursting out from behind the pallet, Matt went straight for the smell of smoke, wrestling the gun away. The agent’s fist caught Matt in the gut, but that wasn’t a big deal, that was fine. Breathing was overrated. He cracked the butt of the gun against the agent’s skull and released the magazine.

Gunfire went off behind him and Matt smelled blood, heard Melvin’s pained yelp. But Karen was still the priority. Panic jolted through him at the realization that she hadn’t left yet.

Instead, she fired her weapon at one of the agents encircling Melvin.

Matt threw the magazine at her, knocking her gun from her hands and ignoring her cursing. The agent she’d shot was on the ground, bleeding but still alive, and Melvin was still fighting even as he gasped in pain. Another agent whipped around, gun coming up towards Karen, so Matt flipped forward.

Forgot he couldn’t really flip anymore.

It hurt and it wasn’t smooth, but his forward momentum brought him close enough that he changed tactics and simply crashed straight into the agent. The gun went off but the spray of bullets was wildly off-target. With one arm around the agent’s neck and his leg braced against the back of the agent’s knee, Matt jerked him backwards onto the ground. A kick to the temple stilled his frantic efforts to get back up.

Two agents left, both too close to Melvin to use their rifles. Their mistake. Matt dashed towards them, grabbing the wrist of one agent who was trying to draw a knife. A twist and the knife dropped. Melvin snatched it up, so Matt lunged to pull it out of his hands. They both ended up on the ground, but they each kicked out a leg of an agent until the two agent joined them in a dogpile. Matt got one agent in a chokehold while Melvin brutally punched the other until, finally, only three people in the room were still conscious.

Breathing heavily, wincing, Matt got up. “You need to leave,” he tossed over his shoulder at Melvin. He was much more interested in limping over to Karen.

She’d retrieved her gun. Because of course she had. “You all right?” she asked, and for all that his reflexes had been pretty good during the fight, he couldn’t quite stop her before her hand carded through his hair. When she pulled it back, he smelled his blood on her skin.

“We have to get out of here. There’ll be backup coming once these agents fail to check in.” He raised his voice because Melvin was still sitting slumped in a pile of unconscious bodies. “Melvin, get out of here!”

But he didn’t wait to see if Melvin followed instructions. Instead, he used one hand to snatch Karen’s gun and used the other to grip her arm at the elbow, just a little higher and quite a bit tighter than he would if he were letting her lead him so he could steer her outside.

“Wait, what—”

“Not safe yet.” He didn’t bother with asking for permission this time, just stuffed her gun in his belt and picked her up before hopping from a step to a wall to the roof of another single-story shop.

Then he set her down, though he didn’t really want to.

She brushed herself off like she was brushing off the indignity of having been carried like that. “So this is what you’ve been doing all this time? Running around, fighting the FBI?”

What, really? She was such a hypocrite but he didn’t want to yell at her, didn’t want to say or do anything he’d regret. He backed away, wishing his hands would stop trembling. It was adrenaline, but she might interpret it as fear or anger.

Which…he felt both of those things. He was just trying really hard not to.

“Matt, give me back my gun.”

There was something so empty in her voice, like she didn’t know him at all (did she?), that he snapped. “You just shot at the FBI.”

“They were shooting at you!”

“You could’ve killed them!”

“But I didn’t,” she said shakily.

Drawing her gun, he clenched his fingers around her weapon. “And you knew you wouldn’t, huh? Your aim’s so perfect there wasn’t the slightest chance you’d murder a federal agent back there?”

She snatched the weapon back. “I was just trying to get us all out alive.”

“That simple?”

“You and Melvin couldn’t have fought them all off,” she insisted. “They would’ve arrested you—”

“I wouldn’t have let that happen.”

“Then they would’ve gotten to Melvin, I don’t know—”

“Yeah,” he interrupted harshly. “You _don’t_ know. You have no idea how lucky you are that no one back there is dead because of you.”

“I know more than you think.” Her voice was colder than Matt had ever heard it.

He took a deep, slow breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you here. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”

“You didn’t.”

He offered a fake, flimsy smile. “Listen. This isn’t like…this isn’t like the first time with Fisk, all right? We _can’t_ take him down with the law. He’s already manipulating it. So this isn’t about just…just asking the right questions or finding the right witness. This is life or death.”

She scoffed in disbelief. “The fake Daredevil shot Jasper Evans right in front of me _with my gun_. Don’t you _dare_ act like I don’t understand the stakes.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” he said quickly, a little desperately. “I’m saying that…that you haven’t had to make this kind of call, and that’s good. I don’t want you to ever have to…have to choose between your life or someone else’s.”

She stood so still he didn’t think she was even breathing.

How could he explain that all he wanted was to protect her? Not just physically, but from ever having to shoulder the weight that so often felt like it was crushing him? “I just want you to be okay.”

She didn’t answer.

“Karen? Please, I just…” He reached for her hand.

She jerked away. “You have no _idea_ what I’ve had to do.”

The venom in her voice stung. He stepped back pointedly. “Okay. Look. We got what we needed. We confirmed that Fisk got to Melvin, and now we know Fisk is using at least one FBI agent, if not all of them.”

“And Felix Manning is working with the fake Daredevil,” she muttered. He couldn’t tell how much of the anger remaining in her voice was directed at him or this whole situation.

“Who?”

“He…he said he makes problems go away, so I guess—”

“You _talked_ to him?” Matt closed his eyes. Why was he even surprised anymore? “Are you okay?”

“The guy’s a wimp. I could take him.”

He opened his eyes. There was just a bit too much bravado there. “Karen. Did he…did he do something?”

“No,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “Anyway, I think the most important thing we learned is that Fisk is trying to catch the real Daredevil and use the FBI to do it. It’s actually pretty smart—have a bunch of agents on standby so that as soon as someone shows up talking to Melvin about the suit, they can swarm in. Then Fisk’ll know who his enemy is, and you’ll be arrested.”

Matt suddenly felt so, so tired. “Fisk already knows who I am.”

Her head tilted sharply. “What?”

“At the, uh…at the prison I broke into. I had to fight my way out, but there were cameras. I just thought…” He shrugged. “I kind of just thought he’d send the other Daredevil to kill me. Didn’t realize he’d try to frame me, too.”

A physical fight was one he could win. Maybe. A media fight? A legal fight? That was a lot less certain.

 

Karen

She studied him, standing there in his black mask with his shoulder slumping, head lowered but hands forming fists—like he’d already been defeated but was gonna keep fighting anyway. “How are you doing with that?” she asked cautiously.

His answer was monotone. “It’s fine.”

No, it wasn’t. It was definitely not fine. And the fact that the man who’d so feverishly protected his secret identity while he worked with her didn’t seem to care that a crime lord knew about it made her heart drop into her stomach.

Something was really wrong with him.

“Okay.” Dropping her gun into her purse, Karen started rapidly through the implications. “Okay, so we…we keep you away from him, we make sure he doesn’t get any more evidence against you. You can keep staying at your church, right? There’s no connection?”

“Not really. I keep my faith pretty private.”

“And are you, um…” Her heartbeat sped up with nervousness, and it was infuriating that she felt nervous after what they’d just gone through, and it was humiliating because he could so obviously hear it. “Are you coming tonight? Foggy told you we’re having dinner, right?”

The lower half of his face darkened. “I might be a little busy.”

“Doing _what_ , exactly?”

“Letting Agent Nadeem know that one of the FBI’s own agents wore my suit. But, uh…” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Foggy said it’ll be about building your case if the FBI does decide to try to pin you down. And I just want you to know that…if it comes to it, I’ll be there.” He sort of smiled, but there was something chilled and defensive to the set of his lips. “If you want me.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Why don’t you come to dinner first.” Because she _didn’t_ want him if he was just going to swoop in during a crisis and ignore her the rest of the time.

(She did want him. That was exactly the problem.)

“I’m thinking I’ll be out a little late.”

She squared her jaw. “I’ll save you leftovers.”

“Ha.” He took a slow step backwards towards the edge of the roof. “I’ll let you know how it goes with Nadeem. Take care of yourself, Karen.”

And with that, he was gone so fast that it was kind of embarrassing, thinking how long it’d taken them to reach Melvin’s shop.

She held back a sigh until she was sure he was out of range, then let it out in a long breath. Foggy said it was like part of Matt was missing. She was starting to see his point.

But then she remembered how he’d asked if he could fix things for her at the Bulletin, how he’d offered to let her come with him to find Melvin—what, just so she wouldn’t have to be alone? She thought about how upset he’d been at the thought that she’d have to kill someone. Not his fault that he didn’t know she already had.

(That was her fault.)

 _I’ll keep you safe, Karen_.

And she thought that maybe parts of Matt were still there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Melvin got shot, but he'll live. I just refuse to believe that all those FBI agents wouldn't land a hit at all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things:  
> First, I desperately want to see Nadeem do some more investigative work and ask the right questions. Or, at least, better questions.  
> Second, the whole Jiggy thing struck me as a very long-winded way to say Nadeem doesn't trust Fisk so I just kinda skip it here. If you wanna fill in the blanks in your head, that's cool.

Ray

If he had to land somewhere, he might just land on Murdock and Page’s side. Both had histories with Daredevil—Page with her newspaper and personal interactions, Murdock through his law firm. Which in other circumstances would’ve prompted Ray to think they were covering for a vigilante. But unless Ray seriously misread Murdock’s heart monitor, the lawyer hadn’t lied when he said the Bulletin attack hadn’t been carried out by Daredevil.

Which inclined Ray to believe the rest of their opinions too. Like about Jasper Evans.

He just needed more evidence. But unfortunately, the prison warden was not cooperative. That was the problem with working for the government. No one wanted to talk to you—not even the government. His meeting with Hattley was more productive. It both bought him time and suggested that maybe he wasn’t crazy for suspecting Fisk of setting this whole thing up.

And, all right, say he did manipulate the FBI into giving him his penthouse. That was bad enough. But what about the allegedly fake Daredevil, who hadn’t shown up until Page threatened to expose the truth about Jasper Evans? If it was true that Evans only shanked Fisk as part of Fisk’s larger plan, that suggested that Daredevil was…what, working for Fisk? Even though Daredevil initially helped take Fisk down?

Maybe Fisk manipulated Daredevil into working for him just like he manipulated Murdock into working for him.

Or maybe Murdock hadn’t been manipulated into anything, and he and Page were telling the truth, and the Daredevil who attacked the Bulletin was fake.

Well, Ray needed answers, and he needed them fast. He didn’t want to waste time arguing with the warden or some other prison bureaucrat over jurisdiction, but he knew how to get a telephonic warrant in under thirty minutes—a warrant that gave him access to all the data at the prison.

There wasn’t much. No pencil-pusher checked any boxes on Jasper Evans, though; that much was clear. The guy straight up disappeared without any record of it whatsoever. But Evans was only part of Ray’s investigation. He also wanted everything he could find about Murdock’s visit. Apparently, Murdock signed in under Nelson’s name, with Nelson’s ID, for a scheduled appointment with one of his and Nelson’s clients, Michael Kemp. Who, luckily enough, was still in the prison.

“Ray Nadeem,” Ray said, flashing his badge. “FBI. I’ve just got a couple questions for you, Mr. Kemp.”

Kemp was sweating slightly where he sat across the table from Ray. “Look, everything that went down here, I got nothing to do with it.”

“I’m not asking about what you may have done during the fight. I’m interested in what you were up to directly before that. You had a meeting with your lawyer, didn’t you?”

“Uh, Matt Murdock. Yeah.”

“And what did you discuss?”

Kemp grimaced. “I’m no lawyer, Agent, but I’m pretty sure I don’t have to tell you that.”

“Fair enough,” Ray said calmly. “Still, I happen to know that there was an altercation between the two of you. Found a partially incomplete incident report. That sound familiar?”

“I don’t know about any incident reports,” Kemp muttered.

“Here’s what’s bothering me, Kemp. If there was an altercation, there should be medical records to go with the incident report. And no matter where I look, I can’t seem to find any.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Kemp said defensively.

“Murdock was a good lawyer for you, wasn’t he?”

Kemp risked a nod.

“Would it concern you to know that he might be in danger?”

Kemp’s eyes widened. “From who?”

“That’s the thing.” Ray folded his hands on the table. “Murdock showed up here, got tagged by you, and never got any medical treatment. Straight after that, a fight breaks out here and all the security footage disappears. Now, maybe it’s a coincidence, but I have reason to believe that Murdock was asking some serious questions that could’ve pissed off some dangerous people. Questions about the Albanians. Does any of that line up with whatever you don’t wanna tell me?”

Swallowing, Kemp kept his gaze directed at the floor. “Listen, I…I got out of the gang for a reason, all right? And I barely did anything for them, and it was a long time ago. But, um…” He took a deep breath. “If you’re really trying to help Murdock, you should know that the Albanians aren’t the problem.”

Ray frowned.

“From what I hear, the Albanians helped him get past the guards.”

“Get _past_ the guards?”

“Yeah.” Kemp nodded solemnly. “The guards were the ones trying to attack him.”

“You mean detain him.”

Kemp shook his head. “Attack.”

 

It was late by the time Ray got to the Presidential Hotel, but Ray was too anxious to be tired, practically buzzing with restless energy. If Kemp was telling the truth, why would the guards have tried to attack Murdock? Because they figured out he was posing as Nelson? That didn’t justify a physical fight, not against a blind man. And then there were the conspicuously absent medical report and security recordings.

Seemed more likely that the guards were trying to cover up what they’d done, which definitely lined up with Kemp’s story.

Ray’s head spun with theories and the part of his brain that didn't feel like it was drowning in caffeine and conspiracies honestly wanted nothing more than to go home and listen to Sami talk about his day. Maybe bounce some ideas off Seema, see if her perspective might shine a new light on things. But he had one more meeting tonight.

He wasn’t looking forward to it.

Fisk raised his eyebrows when Ray marched into his bedroom, like he was slightly affronted that Ray would impose on his solace. He didn’t look like he was guilty of anything other than lying in his own bed.

Ray put his hands on his hips. “We need to talk.”

“Shouldn’t you be with your family?” Fisk mused. “Seema, isn’t—”

“Say her name again,” Ray growled. “See what happens.”

Fisk nodded subtly. Like he sympathized. “What can I help you with?”

Mouth dry, Ray wet his lips. “That’s what this whole arrangement is about, isn’t it? You helping me?”

Fisk glanced around his room. “This, all of this…this was my price, which I was plain about at the start of our relationship. And you have paid it.”

“I need to know.” Ray searched his face. “You let Jasper Evans out of prison to pay him back for shanking you?”

There was no reaction in his cold eyes. “Your desperation diminishes you, Special Agent. Goodnight.”

Ray stepped closer to the bed. “Matt Murdock. He put you in jail, and now you want us to believe he’s working for you. Is that because you coerced him?”

“I can’t begin to guess what might go on in that lawyer’s head.”

“Did you orchestrate a fight at the prison he visited just to take him out of the picture?”

Fisk tilted his head slightly, like an innocent puppy. Or a facsimile of one. “My arm would have to be very long to reach all the way into that prison, Agent.”

A chill snaked down Ray’s back. “What do you know about Daredevil?”

Now, _now_ , a menacing light switched on in Fisk’s eyes, but his voice remained as calm as ever. “He’s a vigilante. A hazard to society by definition.”

“A hazard to you. He did a pretty good job capturing you before.”

“And now, I hear, he’s done a good job staging an attack on our free press.”

“Yeah? How’d you hear that?”

Fisk’s expression never wavered. “Some of your agents were discussing the tragedy. I overheard their conversation. I understand why you’re desperate, Special Agent. That you should be tasked now with doing what Hell’s Kitchen’s law enforcement has failed to do since the vigilante made his presence known—”

“What if the man at the Bulletin wasn’t Daredevil?”

Fisk’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a reasonable speculation?”

Leaning forward, Ray scrutinized Fisk’s face. “Maybe. Have you got an opinion on that?”

“I’ve only encountered Daredevil once,” Fisk said dismissively. “I’m hardly an expert, and he’s hardly my concern. I have everything I need right here, and thanks to our deal, Daredevil can’t reach me.”

“Right,” Ray said slowly. But from what he could tell, Daredevil hadn’t even tried to break into the Presidential Hotel. No, Daredevil had been more interested in showing up at the Bulletin and taking out Jasper Evans. Ray flashed Fisk a false smile. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Fisk.”

 

Karen

Foggy was chattering even before he shed his jacket in her hallway. “I have a theory!”

“A theory,” Karen said neutrally, holding off on telling him about Matt and the FBI ambush for now.

Foggy bustled past her into the living room. “Fisk is giving up criminals involved in corruption. He's planning to step into the void and become the sole source of government protection for all criminals in Hell's Kitchen, maybe the city.”

She blinked dizzily. “You sound way too thrilled about something this horrible.”

“Right, because I also have a plan.”

Sinking on the couch, she squeezed her eyes shut. “No, Foggy. No plans. Do you know what happens when you make a plan? Fisk has already _thought_ of it, and he’s turned it into _his_ plan.”

“Not this one,” Foggy said earnestly. “I figured it out by putting what Matt said together with one of Marci’s cases. There’s no way Fisk would think to connect information coming from two so completely separate sources.”

Karen opened her eyes to squint at him. “Marci?”

“You know how Matt broke into the prison looking for the Albanians?”

“I mean, that’s what Special Agent Nadeem said,” Karen agreed, frowning. She’d told Foggy everything she could remember about her interview after the Bulletin attack. She just hadn’t expected Foggy to be this… _excited_ about it.

“Right,” he said, pulling out a fat file from under his arm and handing it to her. “So I was talking to Marci about that, and it turns out she’s been prepping for a deposition of a corrupt IRS official who was providing fraud and money laundering services—for the _Albanians_.”

“What's this?” She flipped through the pages.

“The terms of Fisk's house incarceration. If he violates any of these, zappo—he’s back in prison.”

“Zappo,” she mused.

“It’s a technical term,” Foggy said confidently, scooting forward to point at one of the papers. “Number three is the key. Committing or conspiring to commit a felony. As in, turning himself into a one-stop shop for bribery and protection from whatever criminals are left after he hands all the big competition over to the FBI. So once the FBI sees that Fisk violated his agreement, they're forced to put him back in prison. And they can't ignore it if we splash it across the front page.”

The front page.

“Karen,” he said excitedly. “If you write this up—”

“I can’t.” She pushed the file back into his hands. “Ellison fired me, Foggy. When I refused to give him Daredevil’s identity.”

Foggy sat back, a stunned expression on his face. “Ellison loves you like family.”

It felt like he’d loved her more than like family, actually. At least, more than the family she had left. “He was upset. He thought knowing who Daredevil really is could help us figure out who the fake one is, I guess. Maybe…maybe if he cools down, or if this all gets…” She shook her head helplessly. “Resolved. I don’t know.”

Now Foggy scooted closer. “Or maybe if you show him what we found, he’ll realize that you care even more about stopping Fisk than he does. And he’ll realize that stopping Fisk happens to include stopping the psycho at the Bulletin.”

“Maybe.” The only problem was, she wasn’t sure she could face Ellison’s rejection twice without falling apart. “You should talk about it in a campaign speech or something. Even if your claims are unsubstantiated, someone has to report on it.” It didn’t have to be her.

To her surprise, Foggy suddenly averted his eyes. “Yeah, that might be a problem, since I’m kind of under investigation.”

She sucked in a breath. “The FBI?”

“Um, no. Well, maybe the FBI filed the complaint, but it’s the Bar Association's doing the investigating.” He shrugged with forced nonchalance. “See, Matt kind of stole my ID to break into a prison. And, uh, now the New York Bar wants to know how I let my ID get stolen, or if it was _actually_ stolen. For all they know, Matt and I could’ve been working together. Point is, I, uh, can’t really campaign to be the DA when I’m under investigation, so…”

So Matt's life choices screwed them both over. Karen put her hand on Foggy’s knee. “What’re you gonna tell them?”

“Well, the Bar Association knows Matt was kidnapped back before Midland Circle happens. It's not too hard to believe that he'd be messed up psychologically, maybe messed up enough to not think about what he was doing. I’ll say he heard about Fisk’s release and freaked out. Made a bad choice.” Foggy shrugged awkwardly again. “Who knows? Maybe it’ll make the Bar look into Donovan. That’d be nice.”

Karen bit her lip. “I’m guessing he hasn’t apologized. Matt, I mean.”

Foggy raised his eyebrows incredulously.

“Look, you’ve…you’ve known him a lot longer than I have. Both sides of him, actually. Is this…” She hesitated. “I mean, maybe it’s not something Matt would do, but are you so sure this isn’t normal for Daredevil?”

“I don’t _actually_ know that much about what Daredevil does. Or how he does it.” Foggy sighed. “I never wanted to know. Maybe if I’d asked more questions, or actually listened, I’d have some idea of what to expect.”

Karen watched him carefully. “But even though you’re not that familiar with Daredevil, you’re still convinced that Matt isn’t being himself?”

“The Matt I know wouldn’t have done anything he thought would put me in danger, and I’m pretty sure that holds true for Daredevil, too. Breaking into a prison under my name asking questions about Fisk _definitely_ puts me in danger. So yeah,” Foggy said, and his voice was more firm now than it had been throughout the entire conversation. “Something’s wrong with him.”

Karen managed a small smile. “Is it weird to say I’m relieved to hear that?”

Foggy rubbed tiredly at his forehead. “He’s still our friend. If there’s something wrong with him now, at least that means we weren’t wrong about him all along.”

“And it means maybe we can do something to help him. Right?”

Foggy snorted. “I mean, I don’t know _what_ , but…yeah. We can try.”

Her smile became something more sincere. They finally had something more substantial to use against Fisk, and sure maybe she’d lost her job and Foggy would possibly lose his (her stomach flipped at the thought), but they were working together. That counted for something. And between the two of them, _surely_ they’d find a way to help Matt. And once it was all three of them again, she couldn’t help the certainty settled deep in her chest that, together, they’d find a way to beat Fisk.

Foggy stayed until after midnight, and he only left because Marci called. Karen packed the leftovers away into Tupperware, but she left out a plate. Just in case. Then she settled on the couch with her laptop, researching everything she could find about Fisk’s criminal connections and trying not to look at the clock.

But the seconds ticked by and Matt never showed up.


	8. Chapter 8

Ray

_How can I fix this?_

_You can start by telling me the truth._

Ray let out a slow exhale as he descended the steps into the garage. His family was supposed to be his center, the eye of the storm, a secure foundation no matter what chaos reigned in the rest of his life. But he’d hurt Seema, and a few apologies and some drinks weren’t going to win back her trust.

Jerking open the fridge, Ray leaned his forehead against the freezer. The worst part was, there was no one else he could blame for his mistake. At least she hadn’t told Sami yet. He’d have to have that conversation with his son himself. Ray wasn’t looking forward to it, but he had to be honest with Sami about his failures as well as his successes.

Ray picked up some drinks from the fridge, and at that moment, his body tensed with the realization that something was wrong. A second later, his brain articulated the warning signals it received: the back door had opened silently behind him.

Drawing his gun, Ray spun around. A shadow grabbed his wrist, jerking his arm down and around, then striking hard against Ray’s arm with another hand. Ray dropped the drinks and the gun. The next second, the shadow jerked Ray around, twisting his arm behind his back and slamming him up against the fridge.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” a voice growled in his ear.

Didn’t seem like it. Ray threw a black elbow (blocked easily), then whirled around with a punch (parried). The shadow pressed Ray back against the fridge with an arm across Ray’s throat and no matter how Ray struggled, he couldn’t get free.

But Ray kept his hand over his attacker’s arm. Not that it would do any good. They both knew who had all the power right now, and it wasn’t Ray. It was the man standing in front of him, wearing a black mask over the upper half of his face. “Who are you?”

“I'm Daredevil. The real one.”

It wasn’t as much of a surprise as it should’ve been. Slowly, Ray lowered his hand away from the Mask’s arm. At that, the Mask dropped back onto his heels, lowering his arm. But his entire body remained taught, like he was just waiting for an excuse to attack. Ray caught his breath. “You don't look like—”

“I buried the red suit,” the Mask interrupted, his voice a deadly calm. “The man who attacked the Bulletin, he resurrected it.”

Ray braced himself. His gut wanted to believe the Mask. But he was a federal agent. He couldn’t believe anything just because he _felt_ like it was true. So he pushed. “You do, however, match the description of a guy who's been tuning up FBI agents.”

“Which is the last thing I ever wanted, but you people haven't left me any choice.” The disdain in the man’s voice was palpable. “If you'd just wake the hell up instead of playing right into Fisk's hands. He's _using_ you.” Pause. “And I think you know it. Now, I heard you confront that psycho at the Bulletin. I heard you try to stop him, and he almost killed you, too. But you know I’m not him, and I don’t think you think he’s actually the real Daredevil. Am I wrong?”

Ray hesitated.

“Didn’t think so,” the Mask murmured, though Ray wasn’t sure what could’ve possibly confirmed the guess. “So let me ask you this, Agent Nadeem. Are you gonna make me go through you to get to him? Or are you gonna help me?”

Ray’s heart started pounding with the realization that, yeah, he was about to do this. This was happening.

Light, fast footsteps on the stairs. “Dad!” Sami called. “Mom wants to know where you are.”

Ray stiffened. He might believe the man in the mask, but he didn’t trust him. “Don't come down, Sami! I dropped a beer, there's glass.” The man in the mask had the audacity to nod approvingly. “Tell your mom I need a couple of minutes to clean it up.” Ray couldn’t quite help the growl that slipped into his voice at that point because even if the Mask was the real Daredevil, he was still a criminal by definition, and he was one unlocked door away from Ray’s family. Ray waited for the door to shut before lifting his chin at the Mask. “Okay. Let's say I believe you. What do you got?”

“The man who attacked the Bulletin dressed as Daredevil…he's in the FBI.”

There wasn’t a trace of uncertainty. Ray swallowed. “Keep talking.”

The story came out slowly but deliberately. The man in the mask corroborated every single thing Page and Murdock ever said: from the Albanians to Evans to the other Daredevil. And it all came back to Fisk.

While half of Ray’s brain raced to recategorize all the information, the other half wasn’t finished testing the Mask. “If you know all this, why haven’t you done anything sooner?”

His lips curled. “I could ask you the same question, Agent. I’m getting the sense you’re not as shocked by what I have to say as you’d like me to think.”

Ray didn’t bother arguing the point. “I have to follow procedure. You’re not so restricted.”

He inclined his head. “I didn’t know about the fake Daredevil until it was too late. In the meantime, you sending the FBI after Karen Page hasn’t left me with much free time. She’s under my protection.”

“All right, but—”

“I need you to know that,” he cut in, voice steely.

“Got it,” Ray snapped. Then he frowned. “What about Nelson and Murdock?”

“All three of them are enemies of Fisk, Nadeem. And I think you’re figuring that out, too.”

“You think he’ll send the fake Daredevil after them?”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’ll cut out the middle man and send corrupt federal agents. Tell me, Nadeem. Have you seen anything among the FBI to make you think there’s more than just one agent working with Fisk?”

More than one…Ray remembered the stories that’d come out after Fisk’s arrest, and all right, he was the first to admit that the screening required of municipal law enforcement officers was less thorough than that of the FBI, but Fisk hadn’t just gotten to rookie officers. He’d owned people all through the ranks. The thought of something like that happening at the federal level made Ray feel sick. “Nothing,” he said stiffly. “I trust my fellow agents.”

“Since you had no idea the man in the suit sold his services to Fisk, that’s not exactly reassuring.”

“I can’t see any of them turning to work for a criminal,” Ray insisted. “Who told you the fake Daredevil was FBI?”

“The man who made the suit.” Something like disgust slipped into his voice. “He should be in FBI custody by now, if you want to ask him yourself. Melvin Potter. He also told me that when the fake Daredevil showed up, he was with a man named Felix Manning. Does that name mean anything to you?”

Ray was starting to feel increasingly more like he was under review—and he was failing. Here was yet another lead he’d neglected. “Karen Page won’t shut up about him.”

Now the Mask showed his teeth in a grim smile. “If I were you, I’d trust her intel.”

 

Fisk

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the tapes. He’d secured them immediately—it wouldn’t do to allow any government officials to observe how the prison staff turned against civilians. Although Matthew Murdock wasn’t a civilian, was he?

Nevertheless, judging by Special Agent Nadeem’s questions, the untimely death of Jasper Evans was drawing too much attention to the prison as it was. Fisk needed to leave Jasper Evans and the prison behind him entirely in the eyes of the press and the citizens of Hell’s Kitchen.

Which was unfortunate, because these tapes…these tapes were truly remarkable. Murdock’s skill went far beyond quick reflexes as he battled both the effects of the drugs and attacks by inmates and guards alike. On the one hand, he engaged in none of the elaborate acrobatics Fisk knew from videos of Daredevil’s activity, none of the acrobatics Fisk himself encountered once before. On the other hand, the drug in his system should have made standing upright a near impossibility.

“Donovan,” Fisk said quietly.

Donovan immediately paused his audiobook. “Mr. Fisk?”

“You’ve reviewed these tapes?”

“Yes.” Donovan drew closer from behind. “Incriminating on multiple levels.”

“If I were to use these against Murdock…what do you recommend?”

“His law partner is under investigation by the New York Bar, which I’m sure is trying to reach Murdock as well. After the investigation, I expect Murdock will be disbarred.”

Narrowing his eyes at the tapes as they looped back to the beginning, Fisk shook his head. “That’s not soon enough, nor is disbarment sufficient. Donovan, you said you were assaulted by a man in black? Is there any reason to believe this is not the same man?”

“Hell’s Kitchen is ground zero for vigilantes, sir—”

Lawyers were supposed to consider every angle; Fisk appreciated that. Still, his voice sharpened with impatience. “Do you see a glowing fist? And I think it’s quite obvious that he’s not the private investigator or the bulletproof one. Tell me what our options are if we assume Murdock is the man in the mask.”

Donovan cleared his throat, a technique which Fisk recognized to mean Donovan was gathering and streamlining his thoughts. “If you claim he himself is Daredevil, the logical thing for him to do is present himself in a location where we’ve sent Poindexter in the suit. Your credibility with the FBI would be damaged. If you claim he is the man in the mask, very little will come of it until the man in the mask does something illegal that we can expose without exposing ourselves.”

Fisk glared at the tapes. “I want to be informed the second that the mask does anything else illegal.”

“Of course, Mr. Fisk.”

“And keep these files ready, Donovan. Agent Poindexter is reckless, unstable. He may outlive his own usefulness. If I have to remove him, there’s no reason I can’t then tell the world who Murdock really is.” Fisk tilted his head thoughtfully. “Hattley tells me Melvin Potter wasn’t alone when he was arrested. There were at least two others present. I suspect Murdock was one of them, narrowly escaping the trap.”

Donovan just waited, face impassive, for Fisk to ask a question that required his answer.

“How difficult would it be, do you think, to incite Potter to testify?”

“Encouraging Potter to testify would be unwise, Mr. Fisk. He could implicate you as well as Murdock. However, a plea deal in which he tells the police of his history with Murdock in exchange for a reduced sentence…that could work.”

Fisk nodded. “Look into it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, just a quick note so that you all know more or less what to expect, since I've never written an AU-canon-divergent thing before and am mot sure if I'm doing this right, lol: even though I'm branching into some areas that I think were a bit neglected in the show (probably due to pacing concerns), like whatever happened to Melvin, I am for the most part not going to add new facts or have characters do things to substantially alter the beats we know from Season 3. Although...some things might happen out of order, or emphasized in a different way. ;) Basically, I'm trying to just do a what-if story that focuses on how the characters would handle facing the same circumstances if they worked more as a team. I hope that makes sense! As always, thank you for reading and thank you for every comment! This fandom is the loveliest.


	9. Chapter 9

Matt

He still felt guilty for missing the planning session with Foggy and Karen. Every time he slowed down and gave himself a chance to think, he just…missed them. So he tried not to slow down.

Which was difficult, since he met up with Nadeem and got Agent Poindexter’s name several hours before it was late enough for them to put their plan into action. To kill time, Matt skulked around Foggy’s apartment, but it felt weird spying on him like that, so he retreated to the church and sparred with his makeshift punching bag until Sister Maggie arrived, shooing him away to do something productive.

“Are you going to see Karen again?” she asked.

“Haven’t seen anyone in twenty years.”

“Don’t give me that.”

Fine. He faced her with his eyebrows raised in a flippant expression that, according to Foggy, was exceptionally irritating. “I took her with me to find the man who made my old suit and we were accosted by the FBI. Don’t think she’s all that eager to be around me again.” Not true, of course, if her dinner invite was any indication. Although the fact that he’d missed dinner might very well mean he’d burnt that bridge.

Or maybe not?

He honestly had no idea how much leash she was giving him.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” the nun said bluntly. “Not about the FBI—that much I _do_ believe. But Karen.”

She was starting to make sense, so he ducked out at that point. He still had too much free time, though, and that bulky green jacket had yet to fail him. Those were the only two reasons why he found some shack of an electronics store and bought two beat-up phones that were riddled with germs. (Which meant he also had to buy sanitizing wipes that practically burnt his nose, but it was the lesser evil.) He kept them both in his pocket, unsure when to drop off the spare device or even which of the few people left in his life he intended to receive it.

But the thought had to count for something. Right?

 

It was a relief when night fell. The city cooled, though it didn’t quiet. He (loosely) followed Nadeem’s directions to Dex’s apartment, easily letting himself in with a borrowed card. Once inside, Matt did a quick sweep. If there was any obvious evidence, he’d rather take it now and go. Give Nadeem his card back later, not talk to him again after getting what he needed. It seemed like Nadeem trusted him—more than Nadeem wanted him to think. And Daredevil’s crimes weren’t in federal jurisdiction. Still. Matt wasn’t an idiot.

But he heard Nadeem’s heartbeat outside Poindexter’s door and he hadn’t found anything. The place was immaculate and were it not for the guy's psychopathic tendencies, Matt might considering offering friendship just because it was so refreshing to stand in a kitchen that didn't smell like last week's breakfast. Reluctantly, Matt opened the front door for Nadeem. There was a _click_ as he turned on a flashlight, and Matt swallowed a grimace. He probably should’ve turned on a light or something. How dark was it in here?

If Nadeem found it odd that Matt hadn’t used a light, he didn’t comment. “You find anything?” he asked.

Shrugging, Matt poked through the kitchen. “He's neat. He likes order.”

“So does my wife, but she wouldn't fit in your suit.” Nadeem investigated a shelf in the living room. “Everything I have on Dex is circumstantial at best. I just left him. He was solid. I don't see a decorated agent falling for Fisk's bullshit.”

First off, some of the best cases were won with circumstantial evidence. But that didn’t seem like a point worth arguing. Matt didn’t need Nadeem wondering about the extent of Daredevil’s legal knowledge. “Yeah, well, that's what Fisk does,” Matt said instead. “Finds a weakness, hits it hard. When you're already on your knees, you've got no choice but to fall for his bullshit.” He paused. “I bet you guys are paying for his room service, too.”

Nadeem didn’t deny it.

“Tell me you’re at least still investigating him.”

“He’s confined to the suite,” Nadeem muttered, poking at a hole in the wall that smelled of chalky plaster. “Not much he can do.”

But his heartbeat sped up ever so slightly. Matt cocked his head. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Nadeem growled.

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“He’s a crime boss,” Nadeem said evasively. “I’m sure he’s got other connections.”

Matt wanted to push, but something much more urgent caught his attention. He froze in the middle of the living room. “The suit's here. I can smell it.”

“What, you can smell it?”

Too late to rethink the allusion to his abilities. Matt headed straight for a closet. “GSR and latex.” He pushed aside the coats hanging in front of a safe that didn’t just smell like the suit. It smelled like weaponry. Behind him, Nadeem started talking about the logistics of getting a crew to crack it, but Matt wasn’t listening. Not to him, anyway. Bending close to the safe, he began turning the dial. He felt the heat of Nadeem’s flashlight behind him.

“What, you can do that?” Nadeem asked.

“Not if you keep talking, I can't,” Matt muttered.

The safe cracked, the sound of the locks disengaging like music. Matt swung open the door and came face-to-face with the scent of metal and guns, one of which had been fired recently, though everything was meticulously clean. But the thing he was looking for wasn’t there. He sniffed again, just to be sure. “The suit was here. He must've moved it.”

“Well, it isn't now. And you smelling eau de suit won't exactly sway a judge.”

Matt felt a flash of frustration. “I'm telling you, Poindexter's the guy. It was him.”

“There's nothing here tying him to Fisk or the Bulletin. We got jack shit.”

While Nadeem backed away, Matt scanned the safe one last time. There was something else that smelled strongly of Poindexter, like he used it more than anything else. He picked up a pair of headphones attached to a tape.

 _“When the crows come to the birdfeeder,”_ a young voice said, _“I kill them with rocks.”_

_“What does it feel like to watch them die?”_

 

Nadeem wasn’t very interested in the tapes. While Matt listened, the FBI agent kept rifling through the apartment. Eventually, he got out a box containing more tapes, hunting through them. Matt wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Matt didn’t think Nadeem knew what he was looking for, either.

Which, honestly, seemed pretty typical at this point.

“You hear about the fight at the prison?” Nadeem asked suddenly, still poking through the box.

Matt’s mouth went dry. He paused the tape. “Which?”

“That lawyer. Murdock. Helped get Fisk locked up before.”

“And yet you investigated him,” Matt responded carefully. “And his partner, from what I hear.”

Nadeem moved his hands to his hips. “I’m just trying to do my job. Murdock snuck in there and the whole place turned inside out. He got attacked by prisoners _and_ guards.”

Matt froze. “How do you know?”

“Talked to Murdock’s client. Guy named Kemp. The way he says it, it sounds like the whole thing was set up.”

“Like some kind of trap?”

Nadeem shifted his weight uneasily. “Fisk said Murdock was working for him. But if Murdock got attacked at the same prison where Jasper Evans was let out, allegedly for doing Fisk a favor…” He was quiet for a moment, like he was about to admit something unusually shameful. “I just can’t help wondering if Fisk’s arm reaches a little longer than we thought.”

Ah. Matt shrugged. “Like I said. You’re the ones paying for his room service.”

“I might be rethinking that,” Nadeem said quietly.

Oh, really? Matt opened his mouth to drive home the point, then closed it. If his read of Nadeem was right, Nadeem wouldn’t be thrilled taking orders from a masked vigilante. Better to let Nadeem settle on his conclusion on his own. Sounded like he was more than halfway there already.

So Matt just nodded and clicked the tapes back on.

 _“Have you been doing our exercises?”_ the woman’s voice asked.

_“Yes, but then the neighbor brought home a box of stray kittens. They were in the yard. I killed them with rocks, Dr. Mercer. I tried not to, but I liked it.”_

Nadeem resumed hunting through the rest of the apartment. “So the guy has issues,” he was saying, just as Matt heard something _bang_ downstairs. “Serious issues. But that doesn't mean—”

Matt held up a hand. Ray fell silent.

And Dex approached down the hallway.

Matt turned back towards Nadeem, swiping up the tape. “He's here. You should go.”

Nadeem moved to block him. “No, we had a deal,” he hissed. “No evidence, you don't touch him.”

“I found evidence,” Matt growled.

“The kind that holds up in court.”

“He's gonna use the suit again. I get the jump on him, I can get him to tell me where it is.”

Nadeem blocked him again. “You gave me your word.”

“Yeah, well, I’m taking it back.”

Matt cocked his head. _Clink, clink, clink_. He wasn’t sure what Dex was doing out there, but it couldn’t be good. He grabbed Ray by the collar. “He’s on alert. You gotta go.”

“ _We_ ,” Nadeem insisted. “We use the law, we can stop him.”

He suddenly sounded so much like Foggy that Matt had to pause and blink to make sure it _wasn’t_ Foggy. No, it was Nadeem, heart beating too loud and too fast, with his right hand straying to the gun on his hip.

But that was definitely what Foggy would be saying right now. “ _Fine_ ,” Matt bit out, brushing past Nadeem to jerk open the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two are the best, and so are you lovely readers! Shoutout to DDLover for speculating about what would happen if any of Matt's friends had a better way to contact him, hence Matt grabbing two burner phones here.


	10. Chapter 10

Ray

The man in the mask wriggled out the window and Ray expected him to drop down to a lower level, but instead he went _up_.

“Wait,” Ray hissed, but of course there wasn’t time to wait, not if Daredevil was right about Dex. Swearing under his breath, Ray ducked out after him and glared at the ledge above. Daredevil had already disappeared, but his face popped back into view, grim and shadowed.

Ray really wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get up there, but he also wasn’t about to ask for help. Swallowing and refusing to look down, Ray stepped carefully onto the edge.

“Hurry,” Daredevil urged, stretching a hand down towards him.

Ignoring that, Ray grabbed the lower support of the fire escape above, heaving himself upwards. Daredevil had already opened the window above, and he climbed the rest of the way into the next apartment once Ray got his feet on solid ground. Well, solid metal. Ray only hesitated a second before joining him inside a living room.

Two B&E counts. Great. That on top of helping a masked vigilante, even going so far as to point that masked vigilante towards a fellow federal agent like Dex. But Ray was scrambling to keep ahold of too many flying puzzle pieces already. Daredevil, the real one, was becoming a point of stability. That probably meant it was only a matter of time before everything went wrong with him, too, but for now, Ray was going to work with what he knew. Resolutely shutting out the voice reminding him of the crimes he’d already committed tonight, he automatically scanned the new apartment for danger.

“Did he see you?” Daredevil demanded.

“Don’t think so,” Ray panted. Squirming over fire escapes took a lot more energy than you’d think.

“Trust me, you’d know,” he responded darkly.

“Are you…” Ray wavered. “Are you so sure Dex is the guy?”

“I told you, he had the suit.”

Ray blinked. “You said you _smelled_ it. I think you can see why that’s not exactly the most convincing thing you could’ve—”

There was a blur of movement and the next thing Ray knew, he was flat on his back with Daredevil's arm over him, lying on scratchy carpet that smelled like cat, hot pain flaring through his side. His gloved hand was slick with his own blood.

But that was a secondary concern at the moment. “The shot came from across the alley,” Ray managed through gritted teeth, trusting Daredevil to understand the significance. There was more than one hostile.

 _If_ Daredevil was right, _if_ Dex was the new Daredevil, _if_ the new Daredevil worked for Fisk…just how expansive, exactly, was Fisk’s reach?

But the man in the mask was frowning, head tilted. “I think it came from downstairs.”

 _Bang_ , _clang_.

A bullet tore through the air above them.

“He’s ricocheting the bullets,” Daredevil breathed, almost sounding impressed.

“Go for the front door,” Ray ordered, keeping his hand clapped to his side. He’d barely lasted five minutes into this investigation without getting shot. Of the two of them, Daredevil was obviously the one who should escape.

 _Oh_ , a distant part of Ray’s brain murmured. _I guess I do trust him, then._

But Daredevil shook his head even as he grabbed what looked like a thin stack of newspapers. “He's by the window. He's waiting for a better shot.”

“How do you know?”

Daredevil paused for an infinitesimal moment. “Same way I know how fast your heart’s beating. It’s not just my sense of smell, in case you were wondering.”

“Oh,” Ray said faintly. He struggled upright.

Daredevil flashed him a frankly terrifying smile before tossing the newspapers into the air and darting across the room under a spray of bullets, slamming into the wall behind a cabinet. “He's only got three more rounds. I'll tell you when he reloads, and then you go.”

Ray braced himself. This was going to hurt. Then he realized: “He's not calling for backup.”

“No,” Daredevil said calmly. “And he won't. But the neighbor called 9-1-1.” Then he slid upwards. Less than a second later, bullets ripped into a mirror’s reflection of the black mask. “Okay, now,” Daredevil snapped. “Go, go, go!”

Ray sprinted for the door, ignoring the voice screaming not to leave a civilian behind in a very one-sided firefight. But he didn’t hear any cries of pain behind him. Nor did he hear anymore gunshots. Yes, Daredevil was technically a civilian. But Ray also trusted him. Trusted him to take care of himself and, apparently, trusted him to take care of Ray.

Catching his breath in a hallway, Ray closed his eyes, wondering when his life turned in this direction.

 

Foggy

A lot of things were Matt’s fault. A lot of things would justify Foggy yelling at Matt. But Karen losing her job? That was on Ellison.

It was pretty late, since Foggy had spent pretty much all day on the phone with the Bar Association’s investigator, promising that he’d comply fully with the investigation, blah, blah, blah. The nice thing was, he was pretty sure the investigator actually liked him (or at least was impressed by his reputation not only as a good attorney but as an attorney who “helps people”—his words), so Foggy told himself that maybe this whole investigation thing was just the start of a beautiful friendship.

Probably not, but he could dream.

In the meantime, he showed up with extra coffee at the Bulletin. The office was locked, obviously, with most of the lights off, but Foggy knocked in the most obnoxious rhythm he could think of until some lower-level staffer in an unfortunate pink polo came to let him in.

“Hi,” Foggy said cheerily. “I have a meeting with Ellison.” The tiny fact that Ellison was unaware of this meeting was irrelevant.

Pink Polo Guy looked confused. “It’s too late for meetings.”

“Franklin Nelson,” Foggy said, still smiling. “Attorney.”

Pink Polo Guy took a quick step backwards, like practicing law was contagious. “I’ll go check with him.”

Moments later, Ellison himself was striding down the hall towards Foggy, face red. He looked an awful lot like a guy on the warpath, especially for someone who'd so recently been in the hospital. In fact, the skin that wasn't reddening was pale, leaving Foggy to assume that he probably wasn't supposed to get worked up. Still, for all the incoming ire, Ellison also looked like he was trying to be cautious about it _just in case_ Foggy knew something incriminating. It was times like this that Foggy loved being an attorney.

Ellison stopped right in front of Foggy. “The office is closed.”

“I figured that,” Foggy said seriously. “With the front door locked and most of the lights off and everything.” He held out the takeout cup. “I brought coffee.”

Ellison didn’t accept. “And I’m supposed to believe it’s not poisoned?”

“My name’s Foggy Nelson. I’m a friend of Karen Page.”

A flash of guilt crossed Ellison’s face. “And that’s supposed to convince me it’s _not_ poisoned?”

Foggy just kept holding out the cup until, finally, Ellison accepted it. He still sniffed the drink warily before taking a sip. His eyes closed as he swallowed.

“Yeah,” Foggy said. “Karen told me your order when I told her I was gonna come talk to you.”

“So she sent a lawyer after me,” he muttered, eyes still closed.

“Nah. I’m her friend, not her lawyer. And she didn’t send me—I volunteered.”

“What d’you want, Nelson?”

“I want you to give her back her job,” Foggy said bluntly.

Cracking his eyes open, Ellison gave Foggy a weary look. “She’s withholding information that would help the police track down the man who shot up _our home_.”

“First off, you don’t technically _know_ that she’s withholding information,” Foggy pointed out. “You just asked her to tell you something and she didn’t give you what you wanted. But even if she _were_ , she’s only withholding information to protect the one person who can actually track down the guy who shot up your home.” He softened his voice. “Look, maybe we can talk in private." He didn't like the thought of Pink Polo Guy knowing anything about what Foggy was about to share.

“Here’s fine,” Ellison said flatly. “And I’m not giving Miss Page her job back just because her lawyer friend showed up. That would incentivize everyone to befriend lawyers, which is the last thing I need.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” Foggy pulled a file out of his bag. “In that case, all I ask is that you take a look at this.”

Ellison was a lot more eager to glance at the file than he was to accept the coffee. “What am I looking at?”

“A list of the people Fisk has turned over to the FBI, cross-referenced with the ways those same individuals have hampered or threatened Fisk’s operations in the past,” Foggy answered promptly.

Ellison gave a low whistle. “Where’d you get this?”

“Privilege,” Foggy said. It wasn’t all privileged, of course, but most of the primary documents were Marci’s work product. The FBI could probably get ahold of that stuff anyway if they proved the need for access to those documents, since privilege wasn’t an absolute protection. It didn’t seem worth explaining all of that, though, not when Ellison was narrowing his eyes, setting his coffee down on the nearest desk to better flip through the file.

“This is…” Ellison’s eyes narrowed still further into tiny slits. “This might be something.”


	11. Chapter 11

Foggy

There were several ways he could conceivably get Tower to talk to him. One of the more tempting options would be to tell Tower that Foggy knew where to find Matt Murdock. Tower must realize by now that the FBI wanted Matt, and Tower wanted to play nice with the FBI, so…but even if Foggy didn’t end up giving Tower any usual information, it still felt like selling Matt out. Which was exactly what Matt did when he stole Foggy’s ID—hence the temptation. But Foggy wasn’t Matt. They both drew lines the other wouldn’t cross. For instance, Matt refused to turn a blind eye to corporations taking advantage of small plaintiffs and Foggy refused to punch people in the face unless there was literally no other option.

Foggy also, apparently, refused to get anywhere close to betraying his used-to-be best friend. He wasn’t really sure how he felt about that personal revelation, but he’d so far failed at arguing himself out of this weirdly adamant stance.

There was also Option 2: lean on his history with Tower. More specifically, lean on the fact that once upon a time Tower knew all about Reyes ordering a DNR on Frank Castle, covering up the massacre, and later using Grotto as bait to capture the Punisher. Blackmail was a powerful thing.

But that was just it. Blackmail was _definitely_ on the list of things Foggy couldn’t bring himself to do.

Since Foggy couldn’t think of anyone in Tower’s life whom he could bribe with cigars, that left good old-fashioned negotiation. He did use a bag of peanut M&Ms to get the receptionist to secure him a meeting, though.

Tower was not impressed when he was forced to let Foggy into his office, even when Foggy offered him a spare bag of peanut M&Ms. “You’re not supposed to be here, Nelson," he said, glaring while Foggy plunked himself down in the chair in front of Tower's magnificent mahogany desk. “Aren’t you under investigation?”

“Sadly, that’s between me and my new best friend at the Bar Association.”

“Where’s your partner?”

“He’s not my partner.” According to Matt, they weren’t even friends anyway. And yeah, Foggy was totally with Karen in the hope that Matt would come back to them. He still believed, somehow, that Matt was capable of coming back to them. But Matt never showed up at Karen’s place despite their invitation and hadn’t bothered to find any other way to make contact. Sure seemed like Matt didn’t _want_ to come back to them. And Foggy had enough to worry about what with Fisk and Karen losing her job and the Bar’s investigation that he really couldn’t muster the energy to argue himself out of being angry.

Whatever. Matt wasn’t the priority right now.

“Is this about your campaign?” Tower asked. “Because you know you can’t—”

“This is me doing you the courtesy of giving you a heads up in private about the bomb that’s about to go off all over _your_ campaign,” Foggy interrupted. “Trust me, it’d be way more fun to do this in public. My girlfriend thinks she can get me a TV interview and she wants me to do it just so she can watch with popcorn. But I’m doing this here because I’m trying really hard to maintain some respect for this office.”

“Do what, exactly? Give another speech about one of your clients who passed away?”

Foggy felt a flash of heat. “Elena Cardenas was never just my client and she was never just a voter. She was a _person_. Not that you care, or else you wouldn’t have signed the deal to let Fisk out of prison.”

“This again,” Tower sighed, sinking into his chair opposite Foggy. “Running single-issue campaigns misleads the people and manipulates their emotions by cherry-picking issues.”

“That’s one way to frame it,” Foggy admitted.

Tower raised his eyebrows behind his glasses. “How else could you possibly frame it?”

Foggy smiled. “I thought you’d never ask. I’m running to hold you accountable.”

“Won’t work,” Tower said flatly. “You can’t be DA if you’re disbarred.”

“I know,” Foggy said simply. “But competition is only one way of holding elected officials accountable. Another is the free press.”

Tower stiffened ever so slightly, so Foggy waited, letting the tension rise. Finally, Tower cleared his throat. “You’re threatening me with the media?”

“Why aren’t you talking about Wilson Fisk, Tower? Do you still claim to have no influence over his release from prison?"

“The powers of my office are limited to state law. Wilson Fisk's situation is entirely under federal jurisdiction and—”

“You mean crimes he's already been sentenced for. But you can prosecute for crimes he's committing _right now_.” Foggy stood up. This wasn’t a closing argument; this was closer to a settlement negotiation. But that was no reason to think Tower wouldn’t be persuaded by a dash of drama. Foggy pointed at the incumbent DA. “Fisk is living it up in a five-star hotel because of the deal he made with the feds, and you know that’s not justice.”

“He’s giving up other criminals,” Tower insisted, although something in his face made Foggy wonder if he wasn't convinced by his own argument. “Making this city safer while he turns over a new leaf.”

“Great,” Foggy said sarcastically. “So let’s tell all the criminals to buddy up and build vast conspiracies, and that way they can just start selling each other out and avoid getting any real punishment. You wanna encourage endless iterations of the prisoner’s dilemma? Because that’s exactly what you’re looking at.”

“My office knows how to tell the difference between lies and actual information, Mr. Nelson. If you’re inferring that—”

“Just because the information is solid doesn’t mean you won’t spend all your time chasing the next bad guy and the next bad guy and never punishing the bad guys that're in custody  _right now_ because you’re too busy making deals,” Foggy snapped. “You’re letting Fisk live in luxury as long as he gives up major underworld figures, which is bad enough because he’s getting special treatment just because he has more criminal friends to sell out. But it gets worse.”

“Do tell,” Tower said emotionlessly.

This was it. Foggy took a deep breath. “Wilson Fisk is informing on carefully-selected targets. Using the government as his private army to reclaim his position at the center of this city's criminal underworld. There are government officials controlled by various criminals, and you and I both know it. Now Fisk is turning all those criminals over to the FBI and keeping the corrupt officials for himself.” He paused. “Does that sound like a man who’s turned over a new leaf?”

Tower blinked. “And you can prove this?”

“It's all right here.” He dropped the file on Tower’s desk.

Tower barely glanced at it. “What am I looking at?”

“Look," Foggy said slowly. "I don’t actually care if you can’t be bothered to read it because plenty of others will be reading all about it soon enough. Voters, I mean." He paused, drawing out the suspense. "I talked to the _Bulletin_ , and they’re ready to print.”

Tower’s eyes didn’t widen, nor did he flush; he was too much of a professional for that. But his voice was the tiniest bit tighter when he spoke. “Unless I, what, open a case against Fisk?”

Foggy shrugged. “Your choice what you do. But with all the media coverage currently surrounding your campaign…I’m thinking you’d better do something.”

 

Donovan

Once Mr. Fisk settled on Special Agent Nadeem as a target, and once he secured Hattley’s loyalty, Mr. Fisk instructed her to monitor Nadeem’s home. Phone, internet, even hacking Nadeem’s home security cameras. Hattley treated Nadeem like a terrorist threat.

Nadeem was not a terrorist threat, technically, although his detailed knowledge of the FBI meant that the slightest deviance on his part could threaten the American People. Nadeem’s decision to investigate his fellow agents wasn’t deviant in and of itself, no. But it could be.

According to Hattley, someone with Nadeem’s clearance hunted through the FBI’s files on Poindexter—and didn’t stop there. Nadeem searched through a small list of agents. The search did not include Hattley. Hattley had admitted that she wasn’t sure whether the search was methodical or random. Nor had she spoken to Nadeem about it.

But it was very, very good to know.

Donovan glanced down at the drawer in his desk, the drawer holding a warrant request he’d written up just after Fisk ordered the electronic eyes on Nadeem. Of all Donovan’s contacts, he had two judges left who would retroactively sign the warrant, including filling in a more appropriate date. If someone found out about the surveillance, Donovan would make sure Mr. Fisk wasn’t implicated. Causing everything to appear to be above board and in full compliance with the Fourth Amendment was just a matter of presentation. Or representation, if you will.

And what was expected of an attorney if not excellent representation?

As for the cameras, Donovan didn’t tend to watch them himself. They weren’t his responsibility as long as someone else was around to monitor them. However, once in a while he found it enjoyable, almost peaceful, to observe the Nadeems in their domestic ignorance. The boy chattering to his mother about plans for a swimming pool while she cooked, the mother prodding him to invite _all_ the kids in his class, including the students who were less popular. It was such a quaint snapshot of the quintessential American family, or at least something that American families aspired to be.

There was only one flaw in the perfect picture.

Special Agent Nadeem stumbled into his home shortly after lunch on Wednesday, favoring his right side as if injured. Donovan happened to be watching even as he listened to an audio book, so he immediately paused the audiobook to hear Nadeem brushing off his wife’s questions. Although Seema must have caught Nadeem in the hallway just by the front door, the security camera could barely pick up the words from inside the house. Nevertheless, Donovan increased the volume in time to hear Nadeem instructing his family to pack.

He reached for his phone. Mr. Fisk needed to hear about this immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cringes* Donovan is such a creep and I hate him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry ahead of time because I can simply not do justice to the outstanding performances of Deborah Ann Woll and Vincent D'Onofrio. Their voices and facial expression were just incredible.

Hattley

Her phone lit up with an unknown caller. But it was her work phone, completely secure. Fisk was calling. Her mouth was dry as she answered. “Hello?”

His voice rumbled in her ears. “Special Agent Nadeem is attempting to send his family away.”

Hattley played dumb even as she tasted bile, like she always did when she heard his voice. “Is he?”

“You said he was asking questions.”

“About Jasper Evans,” she said carefully.

“Has he raised more questions since then?”

“No.”

“Something must have happened to increase his unease.” Fisk sighed, like all of this was a heavy burden that he hated to bear. “I want you to set up a meeting. Ask him if he’s made any progress in resolving his concerns. If you sense that he is evading your questions because he distrusts you, I expect you to secure his loyalty.”

She swallowed. “To the FBI, or to…?”

“I trust you’ll know which route to take when the time comes. As we’ve discussed.”

A shiver ran down her spine.

“And, Hattley…”

“Yes?”

“Bring Supervisory Special Agent Winn.”

 

Karen

She chewed on her lip. Fisk had gotten to one of the agents. Maybe more than just one. _Probably_ more. And he was pointing all of them at anyone who stood in his way. Including Matt. Including _her_. If Fisk had that kind of manpower, it was only a matter of time before someone figured out where Wesley really was on the last night of his life. And if they realized he’d gone to her apartment….

She felt sick.

But if Fisk was going to find out the truth anyway, she’d like to be there to fan his rage and use it against him. The truth was, there was one thing she could do that no one else in the world could do quite as well. She could get Fisk worked up. Emotional. She could provoke him like no one else could. Because no one else had done what she’d done, crossed the lines she’d crossed.

Fisk didn’t control all the agents, did he? Not even Fisk was that powerful. All she had to do was get Fisk to snap on video, and the evidence would be immortalized.

Except…it would only take on corrupt agent to delete the footage.

Karen punched her steering wheel. The last thing she wanted to do was logic herself out of this. She needed to _do_ something, and without her job at the Bulletin, her options were pretty limited. But she’d made a name for herself in journalism, enough that maybe, just maybe, her death would be suspicious. Especially if her death was connected to Fisk.

Pulling out her phone, she emailed Ellison to tell him she was going to visit Fisk personally, and she focused on the dull pain of thinking about him to distract from the feeling that she was writing her own suicide note.

Next, she tapped in Special Agent Ray Nadeem’s number. His work number, anyway. It rang and rang and rang and a sick feeling twisted up in her stomach at the realization that he wasn’t going to answer. And why should he? It wasn’t like he’d recognize her number, and it was late, and he was probably busy. It didn’t matter. She’d do what she’d come here to do with or without his help.

“Hello?”

She jumped in her seat in surprise. “Agent Nadeem?”

“Who’s this?” his voice demanded.

“It’s—it’s Karen, Karen Page.” She bit her lip. “I need help.”

There was a loud noise on the other end of the line. Something falling? A door slamming? “This isn’t a great time,” Nadeem said brusquely.

“It’s about Fisk,” she blurted out.

A pause. Then a muffled sound, like Nadeem was covering the phone with his hand. He said something in another language. Then there was the clearer sound of a door opening and closing. When he spoke again, his voice was hushed. “What about him?”

“I’m going to go talk to him. I need you to—”

“You can’t do that,” Nadeem said instantly.

“I’m not asking your permission. I just—in case something goes wrong, I need you to preserve the security footage from his suite. That’s all.”

“What exactly are you planning on doing?”

“Nothing.” She bit her lip. “I just need to talk to him. How soon can you get to the Presidential Hotel?”

“You have to talk to him _now?_ ”

Since any delay meant Fisk might find out the truth about Wesley on his own, and stage some attack on her life that looked like an accident…yes. “You don’t have to come.”

He swore quietly. “I’m on my way. I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?”

She blinked in surprise. “You trust me?”

His answering sigh was heavy and _pained_. “Yeah, I kinda ran into a friend of yours.”

“Foggy?”

“Daredevil. The real one.” A brief paused. “So I think I owe you an apology. Daredevil backed up your story and told me you know what you’re doing.”

That was laughably untrue but she couldn’t protest with the way her jaw had dropped. Matt found Nadeem, Matt advocated for her yet again. For a second, she almost wanted to ask Nadeem if he had a way to contact Matt. But, no, the last thing she needed was Matt’s involvement with her plan. He’d tell her not to do it or he’d just show up and ruin everything.

“Good,” she said instead. Firmly.

There was an intake of breath on the other end of the phone, and when Nadeem spoke, the words sounded like they’d been drug out of him. “I think the better question is why you trust me.”

“I don’t like you,” she said bluntly. “But I think it’s pretty clear you don’t like Fisk. Right now, that’s good enough for me.”

 

Fisk’s suite was disgustingly ornate and, yes, offensive. He didn’t deserve this after everything he’d done to hurt so many people. But from the look on his face, she was pretty sure he wasn’t satisfied with everything he’d gotten.

“Tell me,” he murmured, staring her down with a knowing gleam in his eyes. “At what point did you learn about Mr. Murdock's secret life?”

She froze. No, she blinked, she blinked twice, and it was clear in his expression that she’d just given him everything he needed.

“Yes,” he breathed, a sick smile twitching the very corner of his lips. “Thank you. Thank you, Ms. Page.”

 _I'm sorry, Matt. I'm so sorry._  According to Matt, Fisk already knew. But even if Matt had been wrong then, he definitely wasn't wrong now. Thanks to her. “Okay,” she bit out, mind racing, steeling herself. “Okay. You want secrets? I can tell you a secret, Wilson.” Forcing his name past her lips made her feel sick. “Okay if I call you that? I feel like we know each other well enough by now.”

“As you wish, Karen," he said calmly. Because he thought he had the upper hand here, and he  _did_. But not for much longer.

Oh, this was it. Two words and nothing would be the same. “James Wesley,” she said, and the corners of his eyes tightened. She shifted to the edge of her seat. “What was it like for you, when he disappeared? Really, it's those first twenty-four hours that are the worst, aren't they?” She clasped her hands together under the table, digging her nails into her palms. “When you call and you call and you call, and there's just no answer. It becomes an obsession. The calling. The never-ending loop of a ghost's voice mail in your ear.” She paused. “You worry. You wonder. You swear, _God damn it, if he's still living, I'm gonna kill him myself._ ”

His face twitched.

“Is that what it was like for you?” She cocked her head. “Did you rage at him? Because you thought he betrayed you? Because I wonder what would be worse for you, his duplicity or his _death?_ ”

He inhaled, fighting for control.

This was it.

She lowered her voice. Maybe the security cameras would still catch her words. Maybe the FBI would bring in some expert to read her lips. At this point, she didn’t care if she implicated herself as long as Fisk got what he deserved. “He died quickly,” she whispered. “If you were wondering. Didn't suffer much. You see, Wilson, Matt Murdock isn't the person you should be worried about.” She locked her gaze onto his. “I killed Wesley. I shot him seven times.” Her voice started to shake as she caught a hint of his teeth and his barely-restrained fury. “Because the _clip_ ran out. He deserved _more_.”

With a roar, he shoved the table back.

“Don’t move!” someone shouted.

Hands jerked her away, out of her seat and slamming her against the table, but someone else put himself between her and Fisk. Nadeem.

“Stand down,” he ordered Fisk.

Fisk was shaking. “She confessed—”

“Leave it alone,” Nadeem snapped. He whirled around to Karen as another agent cuffed her hands behind her back. “I’ll take it from here, O’Conner.”

The other agent stepped aside so he could steer Karen from the room, from Fisk's room. Her legs felt wobbly, hollow, and she wasn’t…she wasn’t really breathing.

“You all right?” Nadeem demanded as soon as they were in the hall, reaching behind her to uncuff her.

“You came too soon,” she gasped.

His eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

Adrenaline faded, replaced by horror. “That was my one shot!”

“You wanted me to wait until his hands were around your neck?”

“ _Yes!_ ” Anger overwhelmed the fury so fast it gave her whiplash. “You _ruined_ it.”

“I just saved your life,” he spat.

Didn’t matter because Fisk was gonna have her killed anyway. Maybe by the fake Daredevil, or maybe she’d just get shot in the head on her drive home. “You’d better use this. Go talk to him, get him to crack while he’s—”

“What exactly did you do to trigger him like that?”

She forced the word past gritted teeth: “Nothing.” He’d find out if it was audible on camera. Even if Fisk didn’t kill her, her life as she knew it was over once the FBI looked at the video. Her eyes stung.

Nadeem sighed. “Wait here. I’ll get you police protection.”

“No,” she blurted out. Either they were with Fisk already or she’d be dragging them into Fisk’s sights alongside her. “Just—just don’t waste this, all right? I’ve gotta go.” She turned towards the elevators.

“Don’t walk away from me!”

“Ray,” a new voice called.

Karen stopped in front of the elevators and looked back to see a new woman with fiery red hair standing at the other end of the hall. Nadeem’s eyes flicked between her and Karen. “One second, boss.”

“Ray.” The stranger’s voice was unsteady. “Winn and I need to speak with you. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy, canon divergence. Let's spread the heroism around a bit.


	13. Chapter 13

Karen

Her heart thundered in her ears, but it was from fury as much as fear at this point. She jammed the elevator button again and again. The stupid door wouldn’t open. She looked over her shoulder where Nadeem had disappeared into a room that’d probably been turned into an office or something.

If anything happened, she was on her own.

 _Nothing_ was gonna happen. She’d talked to Fisk and gotten out alive. A pitiful success compared to what she’d wanted to accomplish, and she was gonna kill Nadeem for interrupting like that, but at least…at least she was still breathing.

That didn’t change the fact that her shot was wasted. Jasper Evans was dead and Foggy’s campaign had fallen apart and Matt was basically MIA and she’d just taken her shot, and for what? The best possible outcome would be for the FBI to miraculously ignore her _murder confession_ and for Fisk to be rattled enough to make a mistake. Both seemed unlikely.

She jammed the button again. Stupid thing, she wasn’t supposed to still _be_ here. Down the hall and around the corner, a door creaked open, out of sight. Someone was coming but she couldn’t tell who.

And of course she’d left her gun at home.

“Nadeem,” she whispered, pressing her thumb harder against the button. But he wasn’t Matt. He couldn’t hear her.

She felt a surge of relief as the doors finally opened. Ducking inside, she started pressing the button to close them just as urgently; the last thing she wanted was to be trapped in a steel cage with whoever was coming.

She should’ve taken the stairs.

Finally, the doors closed and the elevator began its descent. She exhaled. She was okay, she was okay, she—

_BANG!_

She jumped, back pressed to the cool wall. What was that—a gunshot? The elevator kept going down. Someone screamed. Claustrophobia clamped down on her chest.

_Ding._

The doors opened to chaos. FBI agents were swarming the hall. She didn’t spare a second to brace herself before stepping into the crowd, head down, walking briskly, angling her shoulders to slice between scrambling people.

“Miss Page!” someone shouted from behind her. “Stop!”

No way. She didn’t look back. The glass doors were straight ahead and—she held her breath—unlocked.

“You’re under arr—”

She burst out onto the sidewalk, gulping in the city air, and practically fell into her car. A siren started wailing. But no one was following her, not that she could see.

She didn’t bother taking an obscure route to her apartment as she sped off. Maybe she could run from Fisk, but she couldn’t hide.

 

Her hands were trembling so hard, it took three tries to get her front door locked once she was inside. But what good was a lock supposed to do?

The weight of what she’d just done, what she’d just confessed, came crashing down on her and suddenly it was like she was in that empty room all over again, staring at Wesley’s bleeding body and listening to his ghost of a ringtone.

She pressed her hands to her mouth, fighting not to hyperventilate. She’d told Fisk. She’d told Fisk and she was as good as dead.

But Nadeem knew the truth now, and maybe he could pounce now while Fisk was destabilized, and maybe it would all be worth it.

The thought propelled her into her bedroom to grab a bag. Nothing more she could do here in Hell’s Kitchen. If she wanted to live to see the city free from Fisk, she needed to leave. Now. Immediately. Plus, the harder it was for Fisk to find her, the more distracted he’d be.

She dragged the bag into the living room, throwing things into it. It wasn’t just her hands shaking now, it was her entire body, and she—she was actually hyperventilating, no, not the time, there wasn’t _time_ to fall apart.

A car door slammed outside and she froze; icy terror shot through her body, filling in her fingers and toes. It was just a neighbor. Right? Just a neighbor.

“Get a _grip_ ,” she hissed at herself.

Kitchen. She had protein bars and some extra cash. Karen darted into the next room, found what she needed from her cupboards, and was about to toss it all in her bag when something small and black caught her eye.

 _Bomb!_ her brain screamed.

It wasn’t a bomb. She picked it up. It was an old, clunky flip phone. Bugged or something, maybe? A tracker? Who would put a tracker in a _flip_ phone?

Holding her breath, she opened it, still not entirely convinced it wasn’t about to explode. There was only one contact. _MM_.

She released the breath she’d been holding, and some of her terror slipped away.

Matt.

 

 

Matt

People were going to die. People were going to die because he’d let Poindexter escape and all that blood would be on his hands. He couldn’t even blame Nadeem; Nadeem was bound by the law in a way Matt wasn’t. The whole point of _being_ Daredevil was that he could dance over that line when he needed to.

Instead, he’d held back. Now he was stuck listening to creepy tapes, wondering what Sister Maggie was thinking. Every once in a while, her heart would sort of skip. Focusing on wrapping up his hands, he ignored it until he couldn’t.

“Go ahead and say it,” he challenged.

“I promised to keep my mouth shut,” she pointed out.

“But you want to say it sounds familiar.”

“Does it?”

“I didn't have anyone either, but I'm nothing like him. The tapes make it sound like he was a killer at a young age.” He tightened the wraps. “The guy's a psychopath.” He sighed, rubbing at his forehead. “I had a chance today. A shot to catch him off guard, and I blew it.”

“You did what you thought was right. You kept your word to Agent Nadeem.”

Of course she’d say that. “Yeah.” He wanted to leave it at that, didn’t want to spill all his fear out onto her, but she was sitting there listening so intently, like she always did. Apparently he was past trying to hide his feelings from her. “And how many people will die because of it?”

She didn’t have any words of comfort to offer. Probably because there were none.

Turning his back, he got to work pummeling the makeshift punching bag. Behind him, the bed creaked as she got up, and he heard her light footsteps approach. When her small hand dusted over his shoulder, he slowed the punches, leaning into the touch just enough to communicate some kind of appreciation. There were a lot of ways she could spend her nights. Sitting in this basement with him, listening to disturbing tapes, was probably not at the top of her list.

Then her footsteps retreated upstairs and he turned back to the bag. The steady sound of his fists pummeling fabric quieted him, made the world shift back into focus. Gave him perspective. At least he knew for certain that Poindexter was Fisk’s puppet. Maybe more importantly, Nadeem knew, too. And Nadeem trusted Matt. Mostly.

Obviously, he didn’t trust Matt to start a physical confrontation with Poindexter. But…if their positions were reversed, Matt probably wouldn’t trust himself, either.

That wasn’t the point.

Was it?

He hit the bag harder, only to flinch at a soft voice from above.

“I don't know if I have the strength to get through this…”

Sister Maggie. Praying. It felt intrusive, listening in. Plus, it was frustrating to see how much faith she had compared to how little he could muster up. Then again, at least one of the two of them had some.

“He's so stubborn,” she was saying. “Full of fury and foolish pride.”

Oh, great. She was praying about him. Well, he definitely needed it. Still. He hit the bag a little harder.

“Please,” she breathed. “Watch over him. Keep him from making the same damned mistake that took you from us. Our son is too much like you, Jack."

What damned mistake, what—wait— _what?_

Jack?

Matt stumbled backwards.

“Mom?” The word slipped out, completely foreign. She was still praying, but he wasn’t listening; her voice blurred into his memories, all the times Sister Maggie, _Sister_ Maggie, the nun, all the times she’d soothed him when he woke up from nightmares, or tended his cuts and bruises left by Stick, or told him to do his homework, told him to _get back to work, Matthew_.

“Mom,” he whispered, and it didn’t make sense. It pierced a wound he thought he’d healed from decades ago, pierced it so bad and so _deep_ that he couldn’t breathe.

She was getting up now, blowing out the candle and moving around upstairs. The thought of coming face-to-face with her sent a jolt of panic through him. He grabbed his black clothing and baseball cap and jacket and bundled it all together and he was halfway up the stairs when he noticed the cool metal of the cross necklace resting against his chest, still slick with sweat.

He couldn’t stand to wear it for one more second. Tugging it off, he almost threw it in the nearest corner. But he didn’t, though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe the fact that his own faith was so weak made him reluctant to mock hers. Or maybe he just knew it’d hurt her if she saw that he’d left the necklace behind. Or both.

He had bigger problems right now than figuring out his own emotions. He hung the necklace on a lampshade, where it’d be impossible to miss.

Then he left, taking the stairs two at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so if there's any reason to think the FBI wouldn't have heard Karen confess to murdering Wesley, I can't think of it, and this is more fun, so....


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, y'all, this chapter's a bit longer than usual but it's so sad that I refused to cut it before getting to at least a little light at the end of the tunnel.
> 
> Also, I am not skipping the stuff with Nadeem and everyone else. I'm just reordering a little bit in order to keep this scene together. (So, for instance, Foggy doesn't know about Karen going to see Fisk yet.)
> 
> *edit* Also, I know some of you were really looking forward to the "hallucinations" (or whatever they are). I chose not to go over Matt's "conversation" with Jack for a couple reasons. 1) Even if I added new material, I'd still force you all to re-read a conversation that you already know, and I'm trying to avoid doing that. 2) The story is simplified if that conversation is viewed in terms of Matt's internal dialogue with himself rather than an actual hallucination, and I'm complicating things enough as it is. 3) I think the conversation has a bit more emotional weight if it's read as Matt's own thoughts to himself rather than something more externalized. 4) It was a fun (and by "fun" I mean "heartbreaking") challenge to figure out how to communicate those same give-and-take ideas not in a conversation but in a linear series of thoughts.

Matt

_Maggie’s a good person, Matthew. Flawed, like us all…._

The weird thing was, he wasn’t even surprised. The specifics were surprising, sure, but the general circumstances fit so neatly into the pattern of his life that it was hard to believe he hadn’t somehow seen this coming. Here was someone he should’ve trusted who’d left him. Just like Stick. Just like _Jack_. Just like Foggy and Karen. And it was Maggie’s choice. But it was also, according to her, _God_ who took her away from her family. And why? All to serve His big plan.

Yeah. Figured. God’s plan was always built around making Matt hurt as much as possible.

If only he hadn’t heard her. If only he could shed that knowledge so they could go back to how they’d been before, where she was just a nun and he was just…no, no, because _she’d_ always known.

How did she live like that? Seeing him day after day in the orphanage, watching him struggle, sending him off with _Stick?_ And how could she live like that now, healing him from all his injuries and talking about her faith and—and trying to get him to let people in, and the whole time she’d been holding herself at arm’s length and he’d _had no idea?_

What kind of person was she that she could do that?

If she really was his mother, that explained a lot about him.

He felt sick. Not about breaking into Fogwell’s, though. That didn’t bother him at all, although it probably should. Fogwell’s smelled like Dad. Stepping into this place, Matt always had a second where he could pretend that nothing really changed. Not today, though.

He sat on the bench, shedding his coat and the hat and everything that let him pass for a normal human being. If Dad were around, maybe he’d apologize. Maybe he’d make excuses. Maybe he’d blame Maggie, as if he hadn’t made the choice to keep it a secret—even when he’d _known_ he was gonna die.

Maybe, _maybe_ he’d promised Maggie he wouldn’t give up her secret and maybe that promise really did seem worth it as long as Jack was still alive. Matt could almost understand that. He’d wanted a mom as a kid, sure, and it’d been hard to think that his mom hadn’t wanted him, but he and Jack had a good thing together. But Jack had known there was an end date and he hadn’t done anything to make sure Matt was okay. Hadn’t done anything to make sure Matt wasn’t alone. He’d lied and he’d left. Just like Maggie.

That was the thing, though. Jack wasn’t the problem, not really. Maggie left both of them. Maggie was the one who deserved all Matt’s rage.

But hating her hurt so bad because…at least she was still alive. And he owed her. Easier to hate Jack, who’d chosen his ego over his son.

Yeah, easier to hate his own father who’d shown him nothing but kindness for nine years.

Really, Matt just hated himself.

And he couldn’t fix it. Couldn’t fix the anger, the hurt that still festered even though he should be able to just _get over it_ by now. Couldn’t fix anything.

It was almost funny. Each time he’d put on the mask, he’d convinced himself that he was turning into someone else, someone who could fix things Matt couldn’t, some kind of divine weapon stripped of anything human. The truth was, the mask was never anything but an excuse.

Foggy was right.

Matt let out a slow breath even as his leg shook with whatever was pent up inside him. He couldn’t fix the devil in his soul. It was snapping at the chance to release all that anger on the first unfortunate thing that crossed his path.

Might as well make sure that unfortunate thing was Fisk.

Fisk who was the real reason so many people were gone or hurt or just terrified, too terrified to say anything or do anything, because Fisk crushed the first person who stood up against him. Matt should never have brought Karen to see Melvin, should never have let her get involved in any of this. At least Foggy was smart enough to stay away from Matt, although if he went around yelling in his campaign he was gonna end up dead either way….

Unless Matt stopped Fisk first.

His face would break so easily under Matt’s fists. Fisk was nothing but a coward in a suit and maybe he could throw his weight around, but he couldn’t handle pain, not like Matt could. Matt would tear him apart, Matt would snap his neck, Matt would—

“Matt? You in there?”

Matt opened his eyes to nothingness, trembling at the memory of the fantasy. He just—he just—okay. He was really going there.

His head spun. Taking actual inventory of the steps that had brought him from Matt Murdock, attorney at law, to this mess of a person imagining murder was more than Matt could take, especially with Foggy’s loud heartbeat approaching down the hall.

Matt shot to his feet with a spike of panic that some part of his brain recognized as irrational. What could Foggy possibly want? Was he coming with a lecture? A warning? News that something (else) had gone wrong, that someone was hurt?

The door opened. Foggy walked inside. His footsteps plodded straight across the room, like he was too tired or too _done_ to care about Matt’s obvious tension.

Matt kind of appreciated it.

“How come you’re not at the church?” Foggy asked bluntly, standing in front of him. “That’s where you were staying, isn’t it?”

The subtle scent of Maggie’s shampoo washed over him. Matt opened his mouth to say that it was none of Foggy’s business, but he couldn’t force the words past his suddenly tight throat.

“Matt?” Foggy’s posture softened somewhat.

Matt would kill to have his sunglasses right now. Instead, he just stood there, staring helplessly towards Foggy and trying to blink away the moisture welling in his eyes even as he realized with distant horror that his efforts were sure to be futile.

“Whoa,” Foggy breathed, edging closer. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Matt stammered, and he sounded like such a helpless little kid to his own ears that he clamped his mouth shut.

“Are you hurt?” Foggy was probably scrutinizing Matt for visible injuries. He didn’t reach out.

Matt shook his head. He wanted to ask what Foggy was doing here, needed to tell Foggy to spit out whatever he’d come to talk about so this conversation could be over. But he was terrified of he might say if he opened his mouth.

“Screw it,” Foggy muttered under his breath, and closed the gap between them, wrapping his arms around Matt. It was a repeat of the hug from the bar, except that this time Matt wasn’t strong enough to simply stand stiffly in the embrace.

He crumpled against his best friend.

Foggy’s hand rubbed over his back, up and down, while he murmured things that Matt was only half listening to. “It’s okay, buddy. It’s gonna be okay. We’re all gonna get through this.”

A handful of tears rolled down Matt’s cheeks, soaking into Foggy’s shoulder. It almost felt good.

Foggy didn’t let him go, though. Matt would have to be the first to pull back. Steeling himself, he unlocked his arms which had somehow found their way around Foggy and stepped away, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“Wanna talk about it?” Foggy asked hesitantly.

How would that go? _Well, Foggy, I kind of found my mom, except not really because she was actively hiding from me for years, which makes her seem like not my mom at all._ He managed a single shake of his head.

Foggy sighed very quietly, too quietly to be passive aggressive. “Yeah, I don’t know why I asked.” He cleared his throat. “Look, I came to update you on stuff. I think I figured out what Fisk’s plan is.”

“Yeah?” Matt asked listlessly.

“He’s deliberately selling out the worst of his criminal competition so that everyone else realizes he’s the most powerful kingpin there is. Then he’ll use all his corrupt connections to offer protection to the highest bidder. It’s a giant conspiracy.”

A giant conspiracy. Too big and too complicated for Matt to tear apart by himself. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Foggy scoffed. “Matt, this is huge! If we can prove it—”

“How would we _possibly_ prove that?”

Foggy sighed. “I already talked to Ellison and Tower. Ellison’s willing to print the story after I promised to represent him in the imminent defamation lawsuit and, with the pressure of the paper going public, Tower’s willing to do his own investigation on the side. At least, I think. I’m not…” He hesitated. “Well, I’m not you. So he could’ve been lying just to get me to back off. But it’s something.”

“Great.”

“You could _try_ to sound enthusiastic, you know.”

“About you dragging more innocent people into Fisk’s crosshairs? Not likely.”

“Matt, we have to _do_ something.”

Matt’s fingers twitched. “ _I_ have to do something.”

“You’re not the only person on the planet who gives a damn about Fisk,” Foggy snapped.

“Yeah, but you can’t drag everyone into the campaign spotlight with you.” That was why he’d started campaigning, right? Self-defense while he challenged Fisk? “People are going to _die_.”

Foggy folded his arms across his chest. “About that spotlight. It’s gone.”

“What?”

“I’m under investigation.”

Matt’s gut clenched. “Fisk.”

“Not Fisk. You.”

“What?”

“You stole my ID to break into a prison! Did you really think that would have zero consequences?”

“I…” Matt wet his lips. “I didn’t know.”

“Good,” Foggy said tersely. “Because if you did that _knowingly_ …”

Matt felt sick again, in a totally different way. “I didn’t,” he said desperately. “All I was thinking about was learning more about the Albanians. It was the only lead I had.”

“Guess what? Wouldn’t have been the only lead if you’d talked to Karen, because she’s a genius and she had like five leads already.”

Matt closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Foggy didn’t respond, probably because it was such a worthless thing to say.

Foggy wasn’t like Matt. Foggy needed the law. And because of Matt, he was about to lose it. It was too much to think about and too heavy a weight for Matt to carry at the moment, so he lowered himself back onto the bench. “Karen. She’s not okay.”

Foggy remained standing, rapidly tapping one foot. “What clued you in?”

“I mean, none of us are exactly, uh…” He cleared his throat. “But I think something happened to her. Specifically.”

Foggy’s heartrate quickened. _Thud-thud-thud_. He was nervous.

Matt narrowed his eyes at the floor. “You know what happened.”

Foggy swallowed.

“What was it? Is she in danger?”

“No more than the rest of us.”

But Foggy’s heartbeat _skipped_. Matt felt suffocating panic rising in his chest. “Foggy, come on. I can keep her safe.”

“Yeah, no,” Foggy said flatly. “We both _already_ failed at that.”

Ice dropped into Matt’s gut. “What happened?”

Foggy didn’t answer.

For a nauseating second, Matt thought Foggy was keeping this secret to punish Matt for being who he was. But no, Foggy wouldn’t be that cruel. Not to Karen. He had to be keeping this for her sake. Part of Matt was desperately relieved that Foggy was putting her needs first. But most of Matt was terrified that Foggy was miscalculating. “I can help.”

“You wanna help, ask her to talk to you.”

Matt bit his lip. “She won’t.”

“How do you know?” Foggy asked tiredly.

Wasn’t it obvious? “Because she hasn’t.” She’d told Foggy, but not Matt. Wasn’t hard to understand why: Foggy had earned it.

Foggy plunked down onto the bench next to him. “It sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Which part?” Matt muttered.

“Karen keeping secrets. Not telling you stuff.”

Resting his elbows on his knees, Matt lowered his head into his hands. “I get it.”

“So…it would mean a lot to you if she trusted you enough to tell you, wouldn’t it?”

Wow. Foggy wasn’t normally so bitingly acerbic.

“Just a thought,” Foggy said mildly, “but it’d kinda mean a lot to me if you told me more about what’s going on with you. Why you’re camping out in this mildewy gym, for one thing.”

Oh. Matt swallowed. “I…it’s not that simple.”

“Never is,” Foggy pointed out.

“Fogs, I…” He tried to draw in a deep breath, but it was shaky. His eyes were stinging again and he pressed the heels of his palms against them. “Can’t.”

“Why not?” Foggy scooted closer until their legs were touching, until Matt could feel Foggy’s body heat warming him. “Listen, buddy. Maybe I can help.”

Yeah, no, not with this. Matt kept the words back, not wanting to offend Foggy more than he could help.

“Or maybe just saying it out loud will help on its own.”

Matt seriously doubted that.

“Or maybe,” Foggy went on, “you could put your whole martyr complex to good use for once and tell me if only because it’d really help _me_ to have some glimpse at what’s going on inside your head right now.”

That made a startling amount of sense…and it reflected a whole lot of compassion. Matt kept his face buried in his hands and whispered, “I met my mom.”

Foggy froze for about ten seconds straight. When he finally managed to speak, his voice was strangled. “You what?”

Matt didn’t want to say it again.

“I thought…I thought she disappeared,” Foggy managed to say. “In the divorce or whatever. No one could find her.”

“That’s what my dad said.” A new spike of anger lashed through him at the recognition of yet another lie. “Turns out, he knew where she was all along. Everyone knew. Father Lantom…”

“Your priest?” Foggy asked confusedly.

Matt finally lifted his head, sitting upright and tipping his head back, wishing he could stare at the ceiling instead of into nothing. “Yeah, he, uh…she left me to go to the church.”

Foggy’s body was rigid. He was probably terrified of saying the wrong thing. Nice of him to care. “I…I don’t get it.”

“She’s a nun, now.” Matt wet his lips. “She’s been helping me…recover. This whole time—” His breath caught and he felt a fresh tear run down his cheek. “This whole time, she’s been _right there_ , and she never said—she never said anything.”

Foggy swore quietly.

“She didn’t—” Matt clenched his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms. “She couldn’t even tell me herself. I—I had to hear her talking about it. _Praying_ about it.” More tears spilled out. “Asking for strength to—to _deal_ with me.”

That was probably a terrible thing to say in front of Foggy, who’d had to deal with far more than was fair as a result of his friendship with Matt.

Matt wiped furiously at his cheek, although he was crying hard enough now that there was really no point. “And I just—I _trusted_ her, you know? With—with all of this.” He started gasping for breath. “She didn’t just heal—heal me when I was hurt, F-Foggy. She was giving me advice about—about how to deal with Fisk, and she t-told me I should let you help me, let my friends help me, and the whole time she—” He bit down hard on his lower lip. “She was right there.”

Foggy kept quiet, but at some point—Matt honestly didn’t know when—he’d grabbed Matt again, one arm around Matt’s shoulders and the other awkwardly gripping Matt’s hip, which basically had the effect of twisting Matt around until he couldn’t even try to hide.

Matt wasn’t sure what Foggy saw when he looked at him, but Foggy wasn’t running away. He was pulling him closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hug Matt Murdock 2k19.


	15. Chapter 15

Nadeem

_I’m not your boss anymore. Wilson Fisk is._

Ray was parked outside a crappy McDonald’s in a barely-populated corner of Hell's Kitchen where everything outside the windows of his car was dark and still, but his world wouldn’t stop spinning and spinning. Maybe it was blood loss or maybe it was pain or maybe it was the fact that _everything_ Ray’d been working towards since joining the FBI was a complete lie.

He gagged, but there was nothing in his stomach to throw up. The movement pulled at the bullet hole until fresh blood warmed his shirt.

He needed a plan. He just couldn’t _think_. Well, no, he had plenty of negative plans. A whole list of things not to do. Like: go anywhere close to the Presidential Hotel. Or headquarters. Or his house. Hattley had let him go for now, apparently trusting that the blackmail would be enough to get him to do whatever she wanted. (He wasn’t totally sure she was wrong.) But if he just avoided Fisk and the FBI, he could at least avoid whatever _orders_ he might be given.

Maybe.

And if he avoided his home, maybe— _maybe_ —he could shield his family.

What was Seema gonna think?

In his head, he rifled through his options and over and over while the sun slowly rose. He felt like a single stick caught in a sunami. Everything was moving too fast and he didn’t have anything, anyone, to support him. Except…except Daredevil. Since Ray’s world hadn’t been turned upside down enough, now he had to face the fact that the only person who might possibly be able to help him was a vigilante with a history of fighting both local police and the FBI.

He reached for his phone, but it started ringing before he even touched it. Dex’s number flashed on the screen. Snapping his hand back, Ray stared at it like it was a bomb about to go off. Stared and stared and wished he were somewhere else.  _Someone_ else.

Finally, it stopped ringing. No voicemail.

Ray reached for his phone again, but again it rang. Again, with Dex’s number. Again, Ray didn’t answer. But this time, Dex left a message.

“ _Hey, Ray. Just checkin’ in. Figured you might be off to a bit of a rough start this morning. No worries, I got your back. Everything’s okay at your place, by the way. In case you were wondering. In fact…say hi, Sami!_ ”

Ray’s blood went cold.

“ _Hi, Dad!_ ” Sami’s voice chirped. “ _Mr. Poindexter’s teaching me to throw a curveball._ ”

“ _Dex,_ ” Dex corrected him easily. “ _Ray, just c_ _all me back when you get this._ ”

End of message.

Ray was already redialing. “What’re you doing in my home?” he snarled.

“Well,” Dex said casually in his ear, “you’ve been bragging about Seema’s cooking for so long…I just had to come by and try it. Got to meet Sami, too. Kid’s got good instincts for, y’know, throwing things.”

“Get out of my house.”

“ _Wow_. Unfriendly. ’Course, I’m not surprised anymore. That stunt with the lawyer? That was cold. I hope you got what you were looking for, you and your friend. The one you brought to my _home_.”

“I don’t know who he is,” Ray said immediately. “Or where he is.”

“Yeah, you do,” Dex said softly. “But it can wait. You’re wanted at the hotel.”

Ray closed his eyes. “All right.”

“Ten minutes. Don’t be late.”

“Thirty," Ray blurted out. "I’m—I’m at the hospital. I kind of got shot.”

“Tough break.” There was a pause, like Dex was calculating. Then: “Take forty-five.”

 

Foggy

They sat together in that smelly gym while Matt cried himself out like he never had before. He whispered things about his dad that Foggy could barely hear and didn’t really understand. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered right now was that Matt was, for once, not alone.

Finally, Matt sat back, even scooting a bit on the bench to put some distance between himself and Foggy. Fortunately, Foggy knew him way too well to be offended by that behavior. Especially when Matt cleared his throat, mouth forming various words before he settled on: “Thanks.”

Foggy had a lump in his own throat that he tried his very best to speak around. “Sure thing, buddy,” he said, trying to sound as causal and sincere as possible at the same time.

Wiping impatiently at his eyes, Matt pressed his lips together. There was more to be said, _so much more_ , but for now, Foggy was determined not to push. Matt was here, Matt was still breathing, Matt was with Foggy. They could figure out everything else later.

Then Matt’s phone buzzed so suddenly they both flinched. Then Matt was on his feet, retreating into the corner of the room like, what, like he could hide or something?

“Yeah?” he growled into the phone in a voice that sounded more like Batman. Then his eyes narrowed and he swore quietly. “Where are you? If you—stop, stop. You can’t go back there.” A pause. He gritted his teeth, but when he spoke, his voice was eerily calm and almost at his normal register. “We’ll handle that part. I’ll handle it,” he corrected himself immediately. “Meet me at Fogwell’s gym. Turn off your phone to get here.” Then he rattled off an address and hung up.

He walked back to Foggy and started unwrapping the white ropes still bound around his hands and arms. “You should go.”

Foggy rolled his eyes. “I’m rolling my eyes.”

Matt ignored this. “Special Agent Ray Nadeem’s on his way. We’ve been working together to find the Daredevil imposter, but he said he was compromised by Fisk. You should—”

“Hang on, FBI? I thought—”

“Nadeem’s trying to stop Fisk. He’s already broken the law to help us. We can trust him.”

Right, because in Matt’s world, breaking the law to _do the right thing_ was the ultimate evidence of commitment. Or something. “I’m not going anywhere,” Foggy informed him.

Matt yanked off the last of the ropes more viciously than necessary. “You can’t be associated with me in front of an FBI agent.”

Foggy studied his friend’s tight, angry (scared?) expression. “I thought you said you trusted this guy.”

Matt clenched his jaw and didn’t answer.

Because Matt might trust this guy with taking down Fisk, but he wasn’t about to trust him with Foggy. That was…touching, in a weirdly possessive way. “I’m not going anywhere," Foggy insisted.

“ _Damnit_ , Foggy, could you just—” Matt cut himself off, rubbing fiercely at his forehead.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Foggy waited. With the state Matt was in, with everything that’d happened to him since…since coming back from the dead, basically (Foggy still had _so_ many questions about that, but this was _absolutely_ not the time), it didn’t seem likely that Matt was capable of rational discussion. So Foggy let silence make his point for him.

Matt exhaled sharply through his nose.

Foggy took that as a win.

Matt started pacing. “Where’s Karen?”

“I haven’t seen her since that planning meeting at her place. A meeting you missed, by the way.”

“Call her.”

Foggy raised his eyebrows. Matt always got bossy when he was stressed, but this was a new level. Still, Karen was about as reckless as Matt when it came to fighting injustice. Matt was definitely right to be worried. Pulling out his phone, he punched in her number and waited.

And waited.

Next to him, Matt was practically vibrating out of his skin.

“Would you calm down?” Foggy hissed at him as the phone kept ringing.

“She’s not answering.”

“I _know_ that.” He got her voicemail, hung up, and dialed again. Second verse, same as the first. “What is she _doing?_ ”

“Knowing Karen...” Matt said grimly.

“You call her!”

“I don’t have my phone. My actual phone.” Because, yeah, there was no way Karen would answer an unknown number right now. “Besides, you said she doesn’t wanna talk to me.”

“You said that,” Foggy countered.

Before Matt could argue—and from the look on his face, he was definitely about to argue—his burner phone resumed buzzing.

“Nadeem again?” Foggy asked.

Matt held the clunky device to his ear. “I told you to turn your phone off—Karen?”

Foggy dropped his own phone in shock.

 

Karen

Just hearing his voice again made everything feel the tiniest bit more stable. “Hi, Matt.”

“Where are you? Are you safe?”

See, that was exactly the kind of thing that used to annoy her. But compared with how lifeless Dad had sounded on the phone when he knew she might’ve been involved in a _shooting_ …now she felt herself clinging to Matt’s concern like a drowning person to a life raft. “I’m—I’m at my place, I just—listen, I’m…I just wanted to let you know that I can’t stay in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“What?” Matt demanded. “ _Shh_ ,” he hissed at someone else. “Sorry, what?”

“Yeah, I, um…” Her breath was shaky. “I kind of pissed Fisk off.”

There was a pause. “You, personally?”

“It doesn’t matter. I just didn’t want you to panic and think I’d been killed or kidnapped or something.”

“Karen. What did you do?”

“I was just trying to get him upset. Distracted. Which worked, by the way. I just thought you should know so you can take the opportunity to—”

“Just tell me what—”

“It’s not _important_ , Matt, could you just—just focus on striking now, while he’s worked up? You’re welcome.”

“Karen,” he said desperately. “Slow down. Fisk’s gonna know you ran as soon as—” There was a _whump_ sound like he was pressing his hand to the phone, and she heard a muffled, “Shut _up!_ ” Then he was back, voice clear and low and resonant. “As soon as he finds your empty apartment. You have to be smart.”

“I _know_ ,” she spat.

A pause. “Listen, I…” He hesitated. “I don’t know what’s going on with you. But I do know something happened.”

She remembered standing in the office, staring at his closed-off expression as he asked,  _Did something happen?_ “A lot of somethings have happened, Matt. To all of us.”

“I mean…I mean, something happened to you.” He hesitated again, sounding so uncertain, so unlike himself. “Do you, uh…do you remember what I asked you about, after we put Fisk away? There was something in your voice.”

Wesley. She swallowed. “I remember,” she said very quietly. “I didn’t think you did.”

“I did. I do,” he promised. “And you—you don’t have to tell me what that was about. But…if you want to, I promise I’ll listen. And—and whatever this new thing is, regardless of whether it’s connected to, uh, to what happened before…I’ll listen to that, too. I promise.”

She remembered standing in his apartment, so frustrated by his obvious lies, by the fact that he was clearly struggling with something but still refusing to let her in. She remembered promising to listen if he could ever bring himself to share his secret.

She remembered how he had shared, and that she had listened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay in posting this, dear readers! But we're right on the verge of some serious Canon Divergence, so I wanted to make absolutely sure I knew what I was doing. Buckle up!


	16. Chapter 16

Karen

She was such a coward and this was a shitty way to tell him. But it was easier to say this without having to see his face. She sitting on the edge of her bed, and if she closed her eyes she could still remember the dream where Fisk had appeared to threaten her. “You—you, um, you remember that guy that worked with Fisk? W-Wesley?”

“The one who tried to hire us.”

The one who successfully hired them, actually, but okay. “He disappeared.”

Silence.

Doing this over the phone was a terrible, _terrible_ idea. Suddenly, all she could think of was all those things he’d said about Frank Castle.

_Maybe you should judge Frank. Castle’s a killer._

“Karen?” He sounded uncharacteristically hesitant.

What was she _doing?_ He didn’t deserve to know this. And it wasn’t exactly much of an olive branch.

But he was her friend. Or…he wanted to be. That had to count for something. “I need to tell you something,” she said shakily. “And you need to promise to just listen. Don’t interrupt.”

“I promise,” he said.

“I mean it, Matt.”

“I swear.”

Still didn’t mean much, coming from him. But he was trying, and she wanted so desperately to meet him halfway, even though the gift she was about to give him was so ugly and shameful she wouldn’t blame him for running away. Fixing her eyes on a seam in her comforter, she started to talk. Slowly. Emotionlessly.

She told him about a kidnapping late at night. Drugs. A warehouse. Wesley sitting across a table. His compliments, his threats.

She told him about the gun on the table. About the ringing of his phone.

She told him about seven bursts of blood staining his white shirt.

She told him about wiping off the table. Throwing the gun into the Hudson. Escaping home and locking herself in her apartment and—

And then she stopped. He didn’t need to know about the alcohol, the nightmares, the guilt. He just needed the facts. He just needed to know that Fisk wanted to kill her. So she told him that, too.

When he’d heard everything she was willing to share, he said: “It wasn’t your fault.”

She gritted her teeth. “How can you know that?”

“I know you.”

That— _that_ was her problem. “No, Matt. You don’t.”

Silence. Then: “I’m at Fogwell’s Gym,” he said suddenly.

“…What?”

“I’m with Foggy. Karen, come here.”

No. He just wanted to save her from her own mistakes.

“Karen, please come.”

“I told you, I’m not yours to protect.”

“That’s not what I’m—”

“Fisk’s not gonna stop until I’m _dead_.” She gripped the phone tighter. “Do you get that? So the only thing I should be doing is getting as far away from him as possible because that way _maybe_ I’ll live through this and, more importantly, he’ll spend all his time trying to get to cross oceans to get to me instead of carrying out his plan.”

“An ocean’s not gonna stop him,” he scoffed, so condescending it made her hackles rise.

“ _Nothing_ will stop him,” she said coldly. “And I will not have anyone else die because of me.”

Silence fell. Well, not really. She could hear him breathing, short and fast like his world was falling apart. Knowing him, that was probably what it felt like. And it still grated, but it was so hard to really be angry because, oh, he _cared_. And after everything she’d just told him, he still wanted her close.

“You remember my church?” he said suddenly.

“Yeah,” she said, confused by the non-sequitur.

“Go there. The, uh…” He cleared his throat. “The nuns can help you. Give you supplies if nothing else, and probably find a way to smuggle you out of Hell’s Kitchen. They do that kind of thing a lot for people who need help, even people in trouble with the law. Illegal immigrants, sex workers who’re being exploited…”

She blinked, trying to swallow whatever emotion was tightening her throat at the realization that even after what she’d just told him, he could still invite her into that sacred part of his life. “Matt. Wherever I go, Fisk will be looking. I can’t put anyone in danger.”

“So don’t stay long,” he insisted. “Just—please, let them help you. Let _someone_ help you.”

“Seriously? I _just told you_ that I—”

“I don’t care,” he said swiftly. Immediately.

If they were talking face-to-face, maybe she’d slide his glasses off so she could see his face, as bare and vulnerable as always, always incapable of hiding whatever he was feeling. She’d be able to tell if he was being honest.

But he’d invited her to his church and that really didn’t seem like something he’d be capable of doing if he couldn’t overlook what she’d done.

She took a deep breath. “You said you’re at a gym?”

 

Foggy

Matt lowered the phone, shoulders sagging with relief. “Karen’s on her way.”

“What happened to her?” Foggy demanded, since it was obvious _something_ happened.

Matt grimaced. “She, uh…she went to see Fisk.”

He was joking. Right? Nope. Damnit. “ _Why?_ ”

“To upset him,” Matt answered primly, and gave no further explanation.

Which…kudos to him for respecting Karen’s privacy, but it was pretty obvious what she’d gone to Fisk about. “I can’t believe this. Actually, no, I can. I swear, Matt, she’s got an even bigger death wish than you.”

Something passed across Matt’s face, some expression that Foggy thought he probably should’ve recognized given that they’d known each other for ten years. But Matt’s voice was calm, almost airy, when he spoke, belying the tension visible in his shoulders. “I did the same thing last year, actually.”

Foggy buried his face in his hands. “Why am I not surprised.”

“You are, actually, if your heartrate is any indication.”

“That’s _horror_ , Matt, not surprise. It’s possible to be horrified while being completely not surprised.”

“At least she’s coming to find us,” Matt insisted.

His _coming to find me_ went unspoken.

“Good point,” Foggy said resignedly. “Perspective.” His license was suspended, Matt was a psychological wreck, and Karen just intentionally pissed off a murderous crime boss. But at least they were gonna be together. Things could, technically, be worse.

Suddenly, Matt turned towards the door to the gym. “Nadeem’s almost here.”

“Is he being followed by a horde of angry mooks?”

“Not unless they’re very, very small.” Matt cocked his head. A second later, he grabbed his mask and pulled it on.

Foggy rolled his eyes. “I’m rolling my eyes at you.”

Matt shot him what was probably a dirty look, but the lovely thing about masks was that they rendered such looks utterly ineffective.

Then the front door cracked open. A full two seconds later, a man stepped inside. Ah, yep, there was Nadeem with one hand on his gun. The lying liar who’d used a sandwich order to try to press Foggy into snitching on Matt. Truly despicable.

“Nelson?” Nadeem demanded, eyes darting towards Foggy.

Matt opened his mouth, but Foggy could speak for himself, thank you very much. He stood up, hands in his pockets in the universal posture of I’m-a-confident-lawyer-and-I-know-what-I’m-doing. “I know what Fisk is up to.”

Nadeem edged into the room. Now his eyes were darting between Foggy and Matt, but Foggy couldn’t tell whether he was actually connecting the dots. “Nice hideout,” he said instead, though he hadn’t given the room more than a cursory glance. Checking for bad guys and nothing more. Was it really paranoia if you were right? He gestured between the two of them. “You’re working together?”

“Something like that,” Matt muttered. “Are you bleeding?”

Nadeem ignored this. “What’s the plan?”

Matt jerked his head at Foggy. “Tell him what you know about Fisk.” And while Foggy started explaining his theory about Fisk’s plan, Matt pulled a battered and ancient-looking first aid kit (and Foggy used that term loosely) out of an equally battered and ancient-looking locker.

“Fisk has definitely been turning in some high-powered criminals,” Nadeem said slowly, looking at Matt uncertainly. “But we haven’t been able to figure out a pattern. It’s not like—what are you doing?”

Matt pushed Nadeem unceremoniously onto the bench. “You’re bleeding. I can help. I’ve gotten pretty good at, uh…stitches.”

“I don’t need—”

“Yes, you do.” Matt raised his eyebrows. “What was the point in coming here if you don’t let me help you?”

Good question, Matt. Foggy made a mental note to use it the next time Matt shuffled into Foggy’s vicinity, acting vaguely like his life was in ruins but refusing to admit anything.

Nadeem threw Foggy an indecipherable look. Then sighed. Then started unbuttoning his shirt.

Progress all around.

“So you know Fisk’s play,” Nadeem said, wincing as he unpeeled the fabric of his shirt glued to the bloody— _yikes_ —bullet hole in his side. “Do you have a plan?”

“We’re still working on that part,” Matt admitted, sterilizing needles with a practiced ease that Foggy couldn’t recognize.

“Actually,” Foggy said. “I’ve been thinking. I’ve got someone at the _Bulletin_ ready to run with the story of what Fisk’s up to, if we can just prove it. So—” He broke off as Nadeem yelped, swearing at the needle under his skin.

“Shh,” Matt said.

Nadeem glared daggers, but Matt was blissfully ignorant.

Foggy raised his voice. “So who better to prove it than the coconspirators themselves? If we can get the statements of Fisk’s criminal friends—”

“They’d never flip on Fisk,” Nadeem cut in. “No one can. Not if they have anyone they care about left to protect.”

But Matt had gotten all quiet and broody as he tied off the stitches and sat back. It was like Foggy could _see_ the I-alone-can-bear-this-burden settling onto his shoulders. “Matt?” he prompted.

Matt looked up guiltily. “What? I, uh…I could probably get them to talk.”

Foggy narrowed his eyes. “How?”

“Just, you know…convince them.” Matt wet his lips.

Oh. _Oh_. Foggy felt something uncomfortable squirming in his gut, but he tried to sound normal and reasonable when he said, “It’d be coerced.”

“It won’t stand up in a court of law, but Ellison’s ready to print.” Matt shrugged uneasily. “Then you get Tower to follow up and get clean statements, if he’s really so willing to prosecute.”

Nadeem was nodding with hesitant relief in his eyes that was so strong it felt like Foggy must be focusing on all the wrong things. “That could work,” the agent said. “That could really work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We received criminally few scenes of Matt, Foggy, Karen, and Nadeem all actually together. But that, my friends, is what fic is for.


	17. Chapter 17

Foggy

Foggy was outlining a list of targets, the people Fisk had been informing against, when Matt suddenly lifted his chin, head tilted. Foggy had to resist the impulse to ask, _watcha hear, boy?_

“Karen,” Matt said a second later. “She’s almost here.”

“Ground rules,” Foggy announced, pointing at Nadeem who really had been trying to be helpful despite the fact that he kept looking at his watch like he had somewhere to be. Which, rude. “You stand in a corner and don’t spook her. For all she knows, you’re just another FBI—”

“She asked me for help,” Nadeem informed them.

Foggy blinked. “When?”

“When she went to visit Fisk.”

Foggy narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but Matt murmured, “He’s telling the truth.”

Which pretty much made Foggy the only person to not personally see any evidence of Nadeem’s newfound helpful side. “Still,” Foggy said. “She’s been through a lot, and you’re…”

Nadeem squared his jaw. “I know. I’ll back off. I need to make a call anyway.”

“To whom?” Foggy demanded, even though Matt would (probably) be able to hear it. (Could Matt hear both sides of a phone conversation? Aside from the fact that that made memories of certain office phone calls with Marci _very_ embarrassing, it’d be a useful trick. Foggy should probably spend more time figuring out what his best friend’s superpowers actually involved instead of pretending they didn’t exist. Later.)

Nadeem’s face was a hard mask. “My family. I’m about to disobey a direct order from Fisk when I’m not at the hotel in…” He glanced at his watch again. “About five minutes now. So they need to get somewhere safe.” With that, he backed into a moldy corner of Fogwell’s, pulling out his phone right as the front door opened and Karen stepped in. She stopped just inside the doorway.

“He’s with us,” Foggy said immediately.

Her eyes flicked to Nadeem and back. “I figured.”

The subsequent stillness was almost painful. It was the first time all three of them had been together since…Foggy didn’t even know. The precinct before Midland Circle, technically, but that didn’t feel like it really counted since Matt had been too busy trying to be a hero to remember how to be a friend.

Or something like that.

“You okay?” Matt asked quietly.

Karen raised her eyebrows incredulously. “Are any of us? More importantly, I’m pretty sure no one followed me here.”

“They didn’t,” he said.

Rolling her eyes, Karen edged closer into the room. “So I feel like, um—”

“We have a plan,” Foggy said at the exact same time.

They both looked at each other.

Foggy offered a small smile. “Go ahead.”

She twisted her hands together. “So I feel like you guys deserve an explanation. And—” She bit her lip.

“And what?” Matt asked softly.

She aimed her eyes at the ceiling, a classic Karen trick to try not to cry. “And the chance to decide you don’t wanna work with me.”

Foggy opened his mouth to begin his five-point presentation why _that_ wasn’t happening, but Matt stepped on his foot with precise aim, driving his heel into a pressure point by Foggy’s toe. He shut his mouth.

Karen looked almost appreciative. “I need you to know how I ended up…with Wesley. And I need you to know the full story of what else happened.”

Lead settled in Foggy’s stomach at the thought of something _else_ happening.

“So I went to see Fisk’s mother,” she began, which was totally not what Foggy had been expecting to hear, but he’d learned his lesson and stayed quiet instead of jumping in with questions. She swallowed. “And it pissed him off. And I was scared, but…but you two weren’t really talking to each other, and I didn’t want to…make things worse.”

That was a punch straight to the gut. Foggy glanced at Matt, feeling both relieved and even guiltier when he saw how Matt was aiming his blank stare directly at the floor.

“I’m sorry, Karen,” he said softly. “It was my fault. Foggy had just found out the truth about…about me.”

“And I didn’t exactly handle it well,” Foggy cut in. “Which makes it my fault, too. Don’t let him take all the self-flagellating credit.”

Karen managed the tiniest, briefest, shakiest smile Foggy had ever seen. “I was just trying to go home, but Wesley…he found me. Outside my apartment. Drugged me, somehow. I woke up in a warehouse.”

Matt was nodding like he’d heard this part before, and Foggy realized that she was giving all this extra detail for _his_ sake. Or maybe because she needed to say it again? As part of processing, or some psychobabble idea like that?

He hoped it was for her sake.

“He started threatening me,” she went on quietly. “And my family. And…you. Both of you. Fisk thought he could manipulate me into working for you.”

In the corner, Nadeem shifted his weight subtly, lowering his phone. Foggy wouldn’t have caught it if he hadn’t had to glance away from Karen’s red-rimmed eyes.

“But I was able to grab his gun. And then—and then—”

“We know,” Matt said quietly.

Licking her lips, she breathed in shakily and hugged her arms around herself. “So I threw away the gun and did everything like you’re supposed to and I thought…I didn’t think that was the _end_ of it, but I thought…I thought that was the worst of it, you know? Unless he showed up and m-murdered me in my apartment, but at least…at least I’d deserve that.”

“Bullshit,” Foggy burst out, and this time Matt didn’t stomp on his foot. Probably because he couldn’t sense a lie. “Karen, you’re—you’re my best friend, you and Matt, and you don’t deserve _that_ , what the hell!”

She was still staring at the ceiling, but a tear slipped down her cheek. “Maybe I’d agree with you except—except—except I didn’t go to see Fisk’s mother alone.”

Who—

“I convinced Ben to come with me. No, I—I tricked Ben into coming. He didn’t want to, didn’t know what I was planning. Didn’t know we’d be talking to Fisk’s mother. But Marlene remembered Ben.”

Matt swore very, very quietly under his breath.

“So, yeah.” Karen’s voice was thin, breathy, as she blinked and wiped at her cheeks with one hand. “That was my fault.”

Foggy wanted to punch something. “It wasn’t your—”

“It _was_.”

“It’s Fisk’s fault. He’s the one who decided to solve his problems by killing people.”

“Really?” she shot back. “Because people end up dead every time I try to solve my—” She broke off, still staring up at the ceiling.

Matt took a tiny step towards her. “Every time?”

She froze, then gave a sharp shake of her head. “Forget it.”

Matt did _not_ look like he was gonna be forgetting it, so Foggy surreptitiously grabbed his arm and tugged him back. “Karen, look. We don’t blame you for what happened to Ben, or for any of it. We’ve all made mistakes trying to deal with Fisk. I even—” He didn’t like talking about it, _still_ didn’t like talking about it, but maybe it would help. “I’m the one who convinced Elena Cardenas to stay in her tenement, and look what Fisk did with that.”

“That’s not the same,” Karen snapped.

“It’s not,” Matt agreed in a low voice. “But one thing is the same: Fisk is the one who took those people’s lives. Not you. Not Foggy.”

She looked like she wanted to believe it, but she shook her head again. “Except Wesley.”

“Self-defense,” Matt said soothingly. “He was threatening imminent physical harm to you and to people you cared about, and his threat was credible enough that no reasonable person in your position would have doubted him. Beyond that, you were drugged. I’m not sure it would’ve even been possible for you to reach the requisite mental state for murder. You were just trying to survive.”

Foggy wouldn’t have thought that what she needed right now was a rundown on homicide law, but Karen had finally, _finally_ dragged her gaze down from the ceiling to stare at Matt like he was offering absolution. Maybe he was.

And Nadeem in his corner didn’t look at all surprised to hear Matt spouting legal jargon. Confused, maybe, but not surprised.


	18. Chapter 18

Foggy

Nadeem cleared his throat and it was like Matt suddenly remembered he was in the room because the bottom half of his face, still visible under that stupid mask under the gym’s dingy light, immediately closed off.

Half of Foggy wanted to tell him to get over himself. But the other half was thinking of what would happen if they all came out of this alive, thinking that Matt needed to be a lawyer far more than he needed to be a vigilante, thinking that Nadeem knew about both sides of Matt's life, thinking that Nadeem might feel the need to restore his own credibility after all of this and might think that turning in the Devil of Hell's Kitchen might just be the ticket.

Time for Foggy to do what he did best: make friends. Since it was really hard to turn your friends over to the NYPD. “Nadeem, how’s your family?”

“They’re gonna stay at a motel. Cash only. But it won’t be enough.”

“We’ll do everything we can to keep them safe.”

Nadeem did not instantly melt into a puddle of relief. “Why?”

“Because you’re taking a giant risk to take down Fisk. We understand that. So are we.” Foggy stared at Nadeem, then moved his eyes to look pointedly at Matt, then looked back at Nadeem.

Nadeem nodded slowly.

Now he just needed Matt to play nice. Foggy raised his eyebrows, not that his target audience could tell. “We understand that,” he repeated. “ _We all_ understand what a _massive_ risk you’re—”

“ _Okay_ ,” Matt bit out harshly, ripping his mask off and rolling his eyes. He stuck out his hand in Nadeem’s general direction. “I’m—”

“Murdock,” Nadeem finished, shaking Matt’s hand like he didn’t know what else to do. “I wondered, looking back on your injuries in the hospital—”

“I was present for the Bulletin attack. My injuries couldn’t have been—”

“And a topography of older scars. You said they didn’t all come from Fisk.”

Shifting his weight uncomfortably, Matt aimed his eyes off to the side somewhere. “Yeah. Well. This city has plenty of criminals aside from Fisk.”

Nadeem squinted at him. “What about due process?”

“Hallelujah,” Foggy muttered under his breath, ignoring Matt’s rote sometimes-the-law-isn’t-enough reply. Finally, someone else who understood the value of the sixth amendment.

Except that Nadeem didn’t look like he was actually opposed to Matt’s approach, and he just nodded in response to Matt’s pessimism. To be fair, the FBI agent had clearly seen the law’s failures up close and personal. Still, Foggy was hopeful that Nadeem’s presence meant Foggy wouldn’t have to be the sole voice of reason in the face of Matt and Karen’s extralegal problem-solving.

Then he looked from face to face to face of this team hunkered down in this old gym and realized, you know what, they were all little rebels.

Foggy clapped his hands together. “Okay, gang—”

“ _Gang?_ ” Karen spluttered.

“Not the illegal kind. The loveable-band-of-misfits kind.” He raised his voice, addressing everyone. “Okay, gang. Circle up. We need to figure out what we’ve got to work with and what we’re gonna do with it.”

They all moved in a little closer, even Matt, who kind of looked like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be there. But something about the way his mouth was set reminded Foggy of brainstorming sessions when they’d just gotten a particularly challenging case.

Karen’s lips twitched enough to let Foggy know that she was happy, too. Happy that they were all together, happy that they were trying to _do_ something about this mess. “You want us to make a list of all our talents? Like, Matt can do a backflip and Foggy knows Punjabi?”

“Foggy knows three words in Punjabi,” Matt corrected in a low voice, sightless eyes flitting almost affectionately over Foggy’s face.

Ever the adult, Foggy magnanimously ignored the both of them and spoke to Nadeem. “Does Fisk actually think you’re working with him now?”

Nadeem glanced back and forth between the three of them. “I don’t know. I think SAC Hattley is convinced.”

Foggy shot a look at Matt, certain his friend was thinking the same thing he was. “We might be able to use that. You’d be a witness to all the crimes Fisk is manipulating the FBI into committing or covering up.”

“I’d be an _accomplice_ ,” Nadeem corrected, running an agitated hand through his hair.

“We could wire you,” Foggy insisted. “You’d just be observing. Mostly.”

Nadeem made a _ch_ sound, like a startled laugh. “You know, I’ve been on undercover ops before. Normally, they need approval of the SAC, but some operations involve sensitive circumstances where even the SAC’s authority isn’t good enough. It’s gotta go up the chain to FBIHQ. You know what those special circumstances include? Participating in any kind of felony. If I go around aiding and abetting the fake Daredevil, what do you think’s gonna happen?”

“We’ll back you up,” Matt said, voice shifting into that flat don’t-argue-with-me-I’m-a-vigilante-who-graduated-summa-cum-laude voice that Foggy could never decide if he hated or admired. “We’ll prove that the pervasiveness of Fisk’s manipulation of the FBI left you with no recourse.”

“Doesn’t mean I should walk back in and start using the gun they give me.”

Foggy remembered the violence unleashed at the Bulletin. “Please don’t do that. Draw a line for yourself now that you know you won’t cross, and afterwards we’ll prove that you only did what you had to.”

“That’s dangerous,” Matt said in a low voice. “They’ll notice.”

“They might not,” Foggy pointed out.

“They will,” Nadeem said heavily.

Folding her arms across her chest, Karen lifted her chin. “So will you do it?”

Nadeem stared back at her and Foggy wished he knew what Nadeem was thinking when he looked at her. “All right,” he said in an exhale, like he was stepping off a ledge. “Yeah, I’ll do it. On one condition.”

“We’ll represent you,” Foggy said immediately. “Or, if you don’t want us, find you someone who—”

“I need you to get my family somewhere safe,” Nadeem interrupted. His voice hardened. “Get my family safe, or I’m taking them and running. I love my country, but I can’t—”

Matt gave a short, sharp nod. “We get it. We’ll take care of it.”

Foggy wasn’t sure how, exactly, they were supposed to do that, but he was suddenly distracted because…he had family too. And Foggy still wasn’t sure what his role was supposed to be in this new rebel alliance, but he knew he wasn’t Matt. He couldn’t keep going no matter what happened to the people he loved.

Karen’s voice cut into his thoughts. “We need to get stuff for recording everything you see and hear. I can probably steal it from the Bulletin. I don’t think…I don’t think Ellison would’ve taken away my clearance so fast.”

Her voice cracked slightly over her editor’s name, but it was such a small break that Foggy wasn’t sure anyone else would’ve picked up on it.

Except Matt, obviously, whose head swiveled towards Karen the way it always did when her distress showed up on his radar. “I’ll go with you.”

Her face looked like it was trying to be impassive and couldn’t quite manage it. “I can take care of myself.”

“But if your clearance doesn’t work, I can break you in,” Matt said simply, matter-of-factly.

Karen gave him a long, searching look before she agreed. Only then did a cocky grin flash across Matt’s face, like he was excited by the prospect of breaking into someplace with a beautiful woman at his side.

Foggy was learning more about his friend every day. “You guys should get going. Nadeem’s already late for meeting Fisk.”

But Nadeem shifted his weight, brow furrowed. “I told you, I’m not doing this unless—”

Matt pulled his mask back on, switching from ruffled-idiot-best-friend to lethal-ninja-vigilante in the time it took to blink. “Foggy knows someone in every industry in Hell’s Kitchen, and over half of them owe him favors. He can find someone to get your family out.”

“Hold up!” Foggy pointed accusingly at him, remembering all those times Matt had looked subtly pained as Foggy’s small talk with clients (or anyone, really) stretched on into a second hour. “Are you admitting that all my sociability is actually paying off?”

Matt smirked at him. “Objection. Counsel is leading the witness.” But as soon as he turned towards Karen, the swagger disappeared and he looked as nervous as a junior high boy mustering up the courage to ask a cute girl to dance with him. Except that he was actually asking the cute girl to commit a felony with him. Burglary in the third degree at least, although they’d be looking at second or first degree if Matt (or Karen, for that matter; Foggy was done ruling her out) had to use physical violence.

Foggy could only hope it wouldn’t come to that.

“Karen?” Matt asked quietly.

“I’m ready.” But instead of starting straight for the door alone, she grabbed Matt’s hand to pull him along.

Whoa.

Nadeem watched them disappear and Foggy could practically see the questions forming in his brain.

“She was our office manager,” Foggy said, like that explained anything.

“Before your firm split.” Nadeem pursed his lips. “I’m thinking I was right.”

“About?”

“About why you and Murdock stopped being partners. It was because of Murdock’s…activities, wasn’t it?”

Bit of an oversimplification, but he wasn’t _wrong_.

“You don’t approve,” Nadeem went on, searching Foggy’s face.

Matt could definitely still hear them, if he thought to listen. “This isn’t an interrogation, Agent.”

Nadeem shook his head. “Sorry. And, look, he saved my life yesterday.”

“And stitched you up today,” Foggy pointed out. “If you have a problem with him, you’d better shelve it. And not just now, I mean. Indefinitely. He’s done more for Hell’s Kitchen than…”

Than anyone, as far as Foggy was concerned.

“He’s trying to do the right thing,” Nadeem said. “That’s all I need to know.”

“Even after we get Fisk locked up?” Which was a bit of an assumption, but one Foggy was eager to make. “You’re not gonna use everything he’s said and done in front of you against him?”

“Look, I…” Nadeem leaned closer, shoving his hands in the pocket of his coat. “I’m not gonna pretend that I _agree_ with everything he does. I don’t even know everything he does. But I get the necessity.”

“And if, over the course of whatever’s about to happen, he does something you don’t think is necessary?”

“Fisk is the priority.”

That didn’t mean he couldn’t make room for arresting Matt later. Or worse.

“I’m on your side, Nelson,” Nadeem insisted.

Foggy wasn’t Matt; he couldn’t read heartbeats like braille. But Matt seemed to trust him.

And Foggy trusted Matt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to DDLover for suggesting sending Nadeem back with a wire!


	19. Chapter 19

Karen

Karen really, really wanted to trust Matt. He was rightahead of her, marking their path through back alleys and rooftops. So far, he hadn’t led her down a single route that she couldn’t handle, and it wasn’t because she’d developed parkour skills overnight. He just knew.

In some ways, trusting him was so simple. Did she trust him to keep her alive? Absolutely, no questions asked. Did she trust him to fight for good? Every second of every day. Did she trust that he cared about her? Yes, that too.

But did she trust him to know _how_ to care about her?

She wasn’t so sure. He’d lied so convincingly for so long. He’d kept his secret even when they started _dating_. To say nothing of whatever happened with his ex. He still hadn’t explained it, although Foggy said he’d said something about her being dead or not-dead or back-from-the-dead and responsible for a kidnapping, which just proved how insane his life had become.

Did he not think she could handle insane?

(That might be true. He always treated her like she was so innocent, something to protect from the world. And she honestly loved that, she really did, but she hated it at the same time.)

She rolled her eyes at herself. If they made it out of this whole mess and their lives ever settled down again, he was going to owe her some explanations. Just like she owed him. For now, they needed to focus on breaking and entering.

They landed on the roof of the Bulletin and he froze, tilting his head. “I think there’s someone in the building.”

“You _think?_ ”

“There’s a printer on. I can’t hear a heartbeat over the sound of the machinery. Is it normal for a printer to be—?”

“No. Someone’s definitely there.”

“Great.” He wet his lips. “You still wanna try this?”

If they waited, they’d just have to come back. She nodded firmly. “Let’s do it.”

He helped her shimmy down to ground level. The heat of his fingers seared her wherever they touched her and she could only hope he’d chalk any weirdness of her cardiovascular system up to adrenaline.

The glass doors lining the front of the building were locked, and swiping her card did…nothing. It shouldn’t mean anything, she was fired either way, but the thought of Ellison going into the computers to remove her clearance felt…final.

“Hey,” Matt said quietly. “You okay?”

Sniffing, she shoved her ID into her pocket. “Yeah. We’re gonna have to do it your way.”

His mask was worse than his glasses; she couldn’t see anything except the unhappy line of his mouth. “I’m sorry, Karen.”

“Me too. C’mon, teach me some crime.”

His mouth looked a little less unhappy as he jerked his head. “This way.”

He led her to a back door, one of those doors she never really saw or thought of before. Something to do with maintenance, maybe? He picked the lock in about the time it’d taken her to swipe her card.

She blinked. “How often do you do this?”

Shrugging, he held open the door for her. Ever the gentleman, and no less so just because they were doing something illegal.

It was weird, though, being back here. The place was no longer technically a crime scene, but to her she didn’t think it would ever be anything else.

“He stopped printing,” Matt murmured suddenly. “Now he’s going back to a computer.”

“Just don’t let us get close.” She set off down a hallway. She’d never had any reason to go down this particular hallway, but it was only a matter of time before she ran into something she recognized. Matt kept her updated on the mystery ex-coworker, drifting around for coffee or snacks or just pacing to a window and back, apparently struggling to find the right words. Karen could sympathize.

She knew the way down to the tech closet, so named not because it was full of particularly impressive technology but because it was stuffed to the brim such an outrageous amount of purely miscellaneous equipment. There were some nicer speakers, headphones, and other wire-related technologies she could find if she broke into other rooms, but this closet was full of so many random gadgets she was confident no one would miss what she took.

They didn’t even bother to lock it, not that a lock would’ve slowed Matt down.

He wrinkled his nose as she opened the door. “Smells great.”

“Shh.” Pulling him into the closet, she wedged herself past him to get the door shut. “Can you find what we need, or should I turn on the light?”

His voice came from somewhere to her left. “We’re looking for…wires?”

“Yeah, like the kind people wear for interviews.”

“Interviews?”

Oh, would he know what she was talking about if he’d never seen someone give an interview with a tiny wire snaking up under their shirt? “It’s like…really small, with a tiny microphone at one end, and usually a battery pack…” She kind of flapped her hand through the air, like that would be helpful.

He sounded equally amused and embarrassed when he said she should just turn on the light.

Which she did, and remembered just how cluttered the tech closet always was, and realized he wouldn’t have had much luck finding the right wires even if he’d known what to look for. One wall was lined with cubbies all overflowing with various equipment, and the tiny table that still took up half the available space was littered with more gadgets and a clunky old floodlight. “Sit tight,” she murmured, spying a bundle of wires stuffed into a cubby that looked promising.

“’Kay.” He leaned back against the door, hopefully paying attention to her old coworker out there and not to the fact that her heart was still beating too fast, or that her skin was flushing too much.

It was just…it was a tiny closet, and he was there in the mask looking like the hero who’d saved her life and helped her expose Union Allied, and he was also _Matt_ and they were working together again, and she couldn’t help wondering what it would’ve been like if they’d both shared secrets a little sooner. Would he have gone with her to Frank Castle’s house? Or anywhere else she wanted to go in pursuit of justice?

Yes. She was pretty sure the answer was yes.

“Karen,” he said suddenly, very quietly.

She jumped and almost hit her head on the roof of the cubby, but he wasn’t moving, so she assumed nothing had tripped his internal alarms. He was just…making conversation? “What?”

“I just…I wanted to thank you. For telling me about Wesley. And Ben.”

“Can we not do this here?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Brilliant. She spent so long being annoyed with him for not talking honestly, and then she shut him up as soon as he tried. He just had _terrible_ timing. “I mean, can you still hear our friend out there if you’re talking?”

“He just went into the kitchen. He’s making popcorn.”

Popcorn at the buttcrack of dawn. Life of a journalist. “You’re welcome, then.” She wormed her hand deeper into the cubby, tugging at a wire that looked like it was the right size.

“You know, you…you didn’t have to tell me.”

“I _wanted_ to.” She jerked harder and the wire popped out. Aha—it was exactly what she was looking for, just missing the battery pack. “You deserved to know.”

“I really didn’t.”

“That’s my call, not yours.” She rooted through a different cubby and pulled out a pack, then held up both it and the wire in the light to make sure they’d connect. “I think we’re good here,” she said triumphantly, turning towards the door.

But he moved to block her, though he didn’t touch her. “Karen, listen,” he blurted out.

She stopped. “I’m listening.”

“The way I’ve treated you, both you and Foggy, it was…” He tilted his head down as if looking away. “You deserved better.”

“I know that. But,” she added, seeing him wince, “I also don’t blame you.”

His head snapped up. “You should.”

“Don’t tell me what I should do.”

“Sorry,” he said quickly.

“I really don’t blame you, Matt.” She stepped a little closer, fiddling with the wires dangling from her hand. “I mean, it’s not like there’s an instruction manual on how to be a lawyer-vigilante-superhero, right?”

“I’m not a—”

“The _point_ is…” She steeled herself. “Maybe Foggy and I haven’t been fair. To you. I’m not saying you haven’t been a complete dick at times, but…” She closed her eyes. “I’ve been trying to put myself in your shoes, all right? And so I’m this kid at an orphanage, and I have these superpowers—”

“They’re not—”

She talked over him. “—and the only people there to help me are _nuns_ , until this creepy old guy shows up and tries to brainwash me into joining his murder cult—”

“The Chaste isn’t a murder cult.”

“—and literally tells me that having friends will get us all killed. And then I grow up and meet Foggy who is an actual ray of sunshine in human form, and also not exactly bulletproof, and then I put on this mask…” She opened her eyes to see him standing very still, face aimed at the floor. “And now I’ve got these powerful enemies who hate my guts and I know Foggy never signed up for any of this, so…” She hesitated. “So, yeah. How would you know that telling Foggy the truth wouldn’t get him killed?”

He swallowed. “I still don’t know that. Not really.”

“But it’s worth it, you know? To Foggy and me. Knowing you—the _real_ you—is worth the danger.”

He looked like he was about to argue, but instead his head came up again, lips parted in surprise. “You’re not lying.”

Her heart ached. “I know. But at the time, all you knew was what your mentor said, which was that telling us about Daredevil would put us in even more danger. And it’s not like you could’ve _asked_ us our opinion, because then we’d…know.” She bit her lip. “So I get why you kept it a secret. And I know you did it because you care about us. I’m sorry I wasn’t more…appreciative of that.”

 _Appreciative_. She sounded so stiff all of a sudden. Nervous.

He shifted a little between his feet. “You said, uh…you said you’ve _been_ thinking about this?”

She moved a little closer. Not intentionally, it just happened. “Trying to figure you out.”

He cleared his throat. “Why?”

That was a…very good question. “I needed to reconcile it,” she said slowly. “The lawyer and the vigilante. They’re the same person, but…” Her voice turned into something smaller. “I just wanted to understand _how_.”

That stupid mask. He was clearly reacting to what she was saying, but she couldn’t guess what he was thinking. “You still think I’m…?”

“I think you’re still the same man who’d rather get paid in homemade bread than let a client go broke. I think you’re still the same man who offered up silk sheets when I was scared and alone. I think…”

_I think you’re still the same man who doesn’t notice when his tie is crooked and feels more comfortable with the cheap stuff._

_I think you’re the same man I fell in love with, even when I only knew half the story._

She set the wires down on the table and moved closer, and this time it was intentional. “I think you fought for me in the rain and you kissed me in the rain and both times, it was _you_. It’s _still_ you.”

With her left hand she touched his wrist, and with her right she touched his shoulder, then brushed the back of her hand against his jaw. He didn’t move as she slid both hands up and pushed back the mask.

Now she could see the emotion glittering in his eyes, which flicked uncertainly over her face. But he couldn’t possibly be uncertain about whether she believed what she was saying. Which meant he was uncertain about whether he should accept it.

Well, she had an idea of how to convince him.

Knotting her fingers in the mask, she rose up on her toes and kissed him. And _oh_ , he responded, moving forward until she was backed against the table. But his hands were light, barely applying any pressure as he ghosted them over her shoulders, her hips. His mouth was braver; he deepened the kiss, tilting his head and sending warmth shooting through her body.

Physically, it felt the same as all the kisses they’d shared before, which was to say it felt really good—he’d never been lacking in skill or the motive to use it. But something was irrevocably different. She knew the truth about him now. Most of it, anyway. She knew _enough_ : she knew about the choices he made every night and the fact that he could hear her heart pounding. She knew how he regretted pushing her away just as she knew that it would probably happen again, and again, and again until they figured this out.

And he knew the truth about her, what she’d done. At least, he knew enough.

She wriggled back against the table, wanting to get higher, to get a better angle, to steady herself with her hand gripping his mask. He got the hint, picking her up until she was sitting on the edge and pressing closer, kissing along her jaw now as she opened her eyes to drink in the sight: his open face, _Matt_ , beneath the black mask. He somehow managed to move even closer; she leaned back and yelped at the crash of the floodlight falling to the floor, shaking the room.

Deer in the headlights was an understatement; Matt stared wide-eyed straight at her before jerking backwards. “The, uh…your old coworker definitely heard that.”

Swearing, she scrambled for the wires she’d dropped. “We gotta go.”

He’d already gotten the door open for her, tugging his mask back into place with his other hand. He led the way perfectly back the way they’d come, probably following their own scent trail or something equally ridiculous. Only when they were safely on a roof two blocks away did they slow down. Matt cocked his head at her; she thought he looked sheepish, but it was hard to tell for sure. “That, uh…”

“Was wonderful, and you don’t have anything to brood about.”

“I was _going_ to say that’s not how breaking and entering usually goes.”

“Are you saying you need more practice?”

“No. I mean…” He looked confused about what the right answer was supposed to be. “Yes?”

She very much wanted to suggest splitting the two activities up to practice them one at a time, breaking into places when needed but practicing the kissing part much more regularly. But that was…probably not a helpful thing to suggest right now in the middle of trying to take down Wilson Fisk and half the FBI. And they definitely had so many things they still needed to talk about.

Nevertheless, she slipped her hand into his not because handholding was very conducive to parkour but to reassure them both that she didn’t regret what just happened. “Never mind. Let’s go find Foggy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Focus is not their strong suit.


	20. Chapter 20

Foggy

Foggy slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Okay, so I’ve got a place we can keep your family, at least until we figure out how to get them out of the country.”

Nadeem licked his lips. “A place?”

“Yeah, one of my buddies is a detective. His mom’s got two spare rooms.”

“You’re friends with a detective? How does that work?”

Foggy laughed. “I dunno, I stopped questioning it. And I’m friends with Daredevil, so…definitely not my weirdest relationship.”

“How long have you known?”

No need to ask what he was talking about. Foggy tried to lean against a punching bag, thinking that would look cool, but the bag spun under his weight. Hastily course-correcting, Foggy leaned against the wall instead. “About two years, now.”

Wow, had it really been that long?

“How’d—” Nadeem cut himself off. “Sorry. I don’t need to know.”

“Know what?” Foggy asked suspiciously.

“How’d he tell you?”

Foggy laughed bitterly. “He didn’t.”

Nadeem blinked. “Oh. I bet that went well.”

“Wasn’t my proudest moment,” Foggy admitted, remembering the cold light of the billboard shining on Matt’s blood-splattered floor. He shrugged. “Wasn’t his, either, to be fair.”

“But you’re still friends, if not partners.”

“Don’t arrest me for this, but it wasn’t the vigilantism that got to me.”

Nadeem cocked his head. Kinda like Matt.

“I mean, yeah, that was freaky. Especially since he really is blind, and we’re supposed to uphold the law, and all that. But I knew how dangerous Fisk was at that point, and even though I hated to admit it, I could sort of see the cracks in the system. Points where the law really wasn’t good enough. So theoretically, being a vigilante kind of made sense. Not that I’d ever do it,” he added quickly. “I don’t have the guts.”

“You have the guts to go against Fisk and the rest of the FBI.”

“That’s not guts, that’s stupidity.”

Nadeem cleared his throat. “So, uh…what was the problem?”

“All the lying,” Foggy said simply. “We've been best friends since  _law school_. I thought I knew the guy after all these years, and then I realized I didn’t.”

Nadeem hesitated. “He probably thought the lies were worth telling.”

“Funny thing about lies, though: the person telling them is probably not the best person to decide whether they’re worth it.”

“Yeah.” Nadeem averted his gaze. “Probably.”

Foggy studied him. He looked like…honestly, he looked like Matt, whenever Matt was feeling particularly guilty and skittish. Foggy sighed, because he was not a therapist. But nor would he be a lawyer for very much longer unless the crisis calmed down enough that he could actually deal with the New York Bar, so maybe he should brush up on his conflict-resolution skills. “It’s not your fault, you know.”

Nadeem seemed to be attempting to memorize the patterns of the gray-green bricks on the wall. “I pushed for the deal with Fisk.”

“Would you have pushed if you’d known what Fisk was up to?”

His eyes snapped back to Foggy. “Of course not.”

“See? Not your fault.”

“None of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t—”

“You don’t think Fisk would’ve found some other agent to manipulate?”

“Some other agent wouldn’t have been so _easy_ to manipulate,” Nadeem spat.

Foggy frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I was…” Nadeem sank his teeth into his bottom lip, and he was back to memorizing the wall. “We were having financial problems. And Fisk knew it.”

“Lots of people have financial problems,” Foggy said calmly. “That’s not—”

“It _blinded_ me.”

Foggy opened his mouth, but Nadeem was already taking a deep breath to keep going, and Foggy realized that maybe he didn’t want anyone disagreeing with him right now.

“I was so obsessed with proving to my kid that…that I could provide, that I could give him as much as any other dad. I’ve already…” He dragged his hand down his face. “I’ve already contracted for that stupid pool. I could’ve…” He glanced at Foggy, the crease in his forehead asking for mercy. “I could’ve been more careful. I could’ve followed Karen’s leads. She told me to look into who owned the hotel, and I’m _FBI_ —it would’ve taken me _two seconds_ to trace it back to Fisk. But I didn’t. I didn’t even look.” His eyes dropped away. “I didn’t want to know.”

Ouch.

Foggy waited, but Nadeem seemed to have said whatever he needed to say. Now he was just staring at the floor, shoulders slumped inwards.

Foggy remembered Karen and _I want you to tell me that I’m a bad person_ , and he remembered Matt before they closed Nelson and Murdock and _you’re better off without me_ , and wondered what it was about him that made people beg him to condemn them.

“I’m not gonna judge you for that,” Foggy said at last. “If that’s what you’re looking for.”

“I do. I judge myself.”

“It’s not what you’ve done that matters, it’s what you’re doing now. And right now you’re risking everything to take down Fisk.”

Nadeem didn’t look appeased, but he stopped staring at the wall and managed to meet Foggy’s gaze. “You think this’ll work?”

He heard footsteps coming down the hallway: light and quick. Karen’s. Not Matt’s, Matt was silent. Like a cat. Foggy shrugged. “Stick with the three of us long enough and you’ll figure out that we don’t do much thinking. But I believe it’ll work, yeah.”

And hey, Nadeem actually smiled! It changed his entire face.

Matt opened the door and Karen stepped in, but instead of heading straight to Foggy, she lingered by the doorway until Matt also came in, and they stayed close enough to each other that it was hard to tell which one was reluctant to leave the orbit of the other. It looked so awkward and so natural that Foggy instantly decided he didn’t need to know any details of the Bulletin break-in whatsoever.

Karen held up her hand, wires dangling from her fingers. “Got it. Battery should last, like, two days if you use it judiciously.”

Nadeem had his hands on his hips, feet apart, like he was getting ready for war. Which he kind of was. “What’s judiciously?”

“I mean, don’t sleep with the microphone on.”

Foggy wanted to point out that he should maybe leave it on in case someone tried to murder him in his sleep, but took another look at Nadeem’s face and thought better of it. “Cool. So Ray should get back to Fisk ASAP. I checked with Brett, and his mom’s cool with letting Ray’s family stay with her, so we’ll just need someone to make sure they get there safely.”

Pulling off his mask, Matt nodded. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

“No, you scare people. Unless you’re gonna let them see your face?”

Matt pursed his lips.

“I thought so. Karen can do it. Right?” Foggy checked. Nadeem’s family would trust her because she looked harmless, but she could probably get them to Bess Mahoney’s place safely because she was, in fact, anything but.

“I’ve got my gun,” she agreed calmly. “It’ll be fine.”

Nadeem rubbed at his eyes, looking like he was realizing anew how far in over his head he actually was.

“Besides, Matt,” Foggy said brightly, “that leaves you free to go punch confessions out of people, which should also happen ASAP.” They should’ve grabbed a second camera. Not that the confessions would be admissible in court, but it would be pretty coercive material to make sure Fisk’s collection of bad guys didn’t flake out the second Matt left them alone. Still, Matt had a decently solid reputation for getting criminals to do what he wanted. Speaking of which. “I’m coming with you, by the way.”

Matt stared at him. Towards him. Whatever. “What?”

“I’m coming with you,” Foggy repeated.

Unsurprisingly, Matt was already shaking his head. “I can do this.”

“I know you can. But I should be there too. You know I’m good with handling a witness.”

Matt’s laugh was short and bitter; he rubbed nervously at the back of his neck. “This isn’t _handling a witness_ , Foggy. Besides, your license is suspended. Your presence won’t make any of this more legal.”

“Since your plan is to literally beat the confession out of them, legality is kinda irrelevant at this point.”

“Which is why there’s no point at all in you coming,” Matt snapped.

“We’re partners,” Foggy said flatly, ignoring the sting of those words, ignoring the way Karen and Nadeem both looked slightly awkward.

Matt flashed a heartless smile. “You ended the firm.”

Foggy wanted to punch him. Because he was right. “We’re _best friends_.”

“Best friends don’t torture people together,” Matt said defiantly.

“Best friends don’t let each other cross lines they’ll regret!” Foggy yelled. His voice echoed through the gym. He hadn’t even realized he was yelling.

Matt paled and it took a while for him to figure out words again. “I’m not,” he stammered at last, “I’m not gonna kill these people.”

Foggy was pretty sure his face was just as white. “But I know that’s not the only line you have. I know it.”

Swallowing, Matt said nothing.

Foggy stepped closer, right up into his personal space. It was one of his favorite tactics and Matt rarely had a defense to it, even after the secret got out that Matt could just backflip away if he felt the need. “I don’t want you doing this alone.”

Matt stayed stock still, not even blinking.

“Hey, Matt?” Karen edged towards them. “Let him come.”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Matt took a jerky step away from both of them. “You too, huh?”

Foggy frowned, not sure what, exactly, Matt was accusing them of. He swallowed again, feeling his throat tighten for no good reason except that it’d been a long day, and he was tired, and he’d _never_ seen Matt cry like he had earlier. “Buddy, I just…”

Matt stiffened at the emotion in his voice. “Okay, fine,” he said quickly. “You can come. Fine.”

“Flattering,” Karen muttered.

Well, Foggy had gotten what he wanted along with a growing headache, so he wasn’t about to argue. He sniffed and tried not to feel like he’d just whined his way to winning an argument. He was a good lawyer, all right? “Good. Okay. What do I…what do I need to do?”

Matt was already moving, stalking past a startled Nadeem to snatch up a lumpy green jacket from a bench and toss it back at Foggy. “First, you need to get a mask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foggy is such an mvp.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that Matt is not a very reliable narrator. :)

Matt

It was impossible to lose an argument when you never revealed the actual reason for your stance. Unfortunately, it was also hard to win an argument if you never used your strongest point. But there was no way Matt could admit that he didn’t want Foggy coming because he didn’t want Foggy to see that side of him. To see the Devil let out.

“It’s just hard to breathe in this thing, you know?”

Matt cocked his head to give Foggy the vague impression that he was paying attention. “I told you not to cover your mouth.”

“Yeah, but then I’ll constantly worry about it falling off.” Matt sensed a motion behind him as Foggy reached up to adjust his mask. It was much like the makeshift mask Claire had used on the roof of her apartment, only Foggy’s was made from a hoodie and a t-shirt pulled over his head, both stolen from the gym. The hoodie was black, but the shirt was, according to Karen, a very dark purple. (Well, Foggy insisted that both were black, and then went on a five-minute-long tirade about the impossibilities of pairing black with different shades of black. Matt honestly didn’t care.) “Besides,” Foggy went on, “you may not have noticed, but I don’t really have the face for the whole exposed-jawline-of-justice thing.”

“The…what.”

“Exposed jawline of justice,” Foggy repeated gravely.

Matt cracked a smile despite his best efforts. This was a serious mission, and he still was distinctly displeased that Foggy was coming along at all. But he’d _missed_ this. The lightheartedness, the banter, the way that Foggy made everything seem less dark and ominous.

“Anyway,” Foggy continued, “I really shouldn’t have to tell you this, but I’m not doing backflips. No backflips. So if that’s part of your crazy plan…”

Matt held his breath, wondering if Foggy would actually back out.

“…I’m inventing a new plan.”

Matt was only halfway disappointed.

The thing was, having Foggy tag along as Matt wound his way through narrow alleys was a bit…uncomfortable. Actually, it reminded him of the one time he’d tried to bring Elektra to a party at law school. She’d made it clear that she had no interest in befriending his classmates, and his efforts to force the two different halves of his life together in one place had been an utter failure that ended with his first fight with Foggy.

_“Can’t you see she doesn’t care about you? The real you?”_

_“She’s the only one who knows the real me.”_

That had shut Foggy up real quick.

But it wasn’t only that he wasn’t used to wandering around alleys at night with Foggy (when they weren’t drunk). He also couldn’t quite shake the sense that Foggy was silently judging him.

 _I don’t want you doing this alone,_ Foggy had said.

Which was all Matt ever wanted, because the thought of Foggy witnessing the devil unleashed….

But did it even really matter at this point?

Foggy didn’t trust him anyway.

Foggy broke the silence that had somehow become tense. “Matt? I’m serious about the backflips. And no rooftops, either.”

“I figured as much. Hence the alleys.”

Foggy gave a relieved sigh, muffled through the shirt over his face. “Okay, good. Cool. I mean, these alleys aren’t exactly _festive_ , but it’s not twenty stories up. Although. Where exactly are we going?”

“Latimer Zyl. First on the list.” Zyl wasn’t a nice guy, none of the people on Foggy’s list were, but Matt wasn’t anticipating much of a fight. Zyl’s organization was smaller than some of the other gangs and crime families, and it was more concerned with orchestrating bribes and blackmail and money-laundering than using physical force and violent crimes.

“Guy’s a creep,” Foggy muttered. “How d’you know where to find him?”

“I don’t.”

“We’re moving with an awful lot of purpose for two people who don’t know what we’re doing,” Foggy commented.

“We’re going to the front for his business.”

Foggy’s heartrate sped up. “To break in?”

“If we have to,” Matt admitted reluctantly. “I just need to…pick up his scent, see if I can find a trail.”

“Oh.”

Matt couldn’t tell if Foggy was thankful for the possibility that he wouldn’t have to commit any felonies _yet_ or disturbed by the smelling-people thing. Matt didn’t want to know.

The thing about Latimer Zyl’s illicit business was that it was the marriage of the legitimate and the illegitimate. The front, according to Foggy’s research, was an insurance company situated in a nice, shiny, five-story building including a basement. But the criminal activities were more suited to the dingy alleys surrounding it. Convenient for Matt and Foggy, who hunkered down in the alley right outside, masks in place without fear of a rich snob seeing them and calling the cops.

“Four people,” Matt breathed.

“Please don’t tell me you can hear a heartbeat through a building,” Foggy said.

“Nah. Voices, footsteps. Still.” Matt grimaced. “Either Zyl’s in there, or the people in there will take us straight to him.”

Foggy seemed to steel himself. “So we’re breaking in.”

Unsure what else to do, Matt patted him awkwardly on the back. “You don’t have to come.”

“I’m coming,” Foggy said flatly.

Stifling a sigh, Matt made his way further around back. No hints of electricity around the heavy supply door. Just a lock, which Matt picked in just a few seconds.

“You, uh,” Foggy said, voice strangled. “You pick locks.”

A fact that couldn’t possibly be a surprise. Matt shrugged.

“I’m just saying ’cause we could’ve had a lot of fun with that if you’d told me back in law school…I mean, it doesn’t even have all that much to do with senses, I think, so you could’ve…” Foggy’s voice trailed off as Matt opened the door. “You could’ve told me…”

They could talk about it later. Matt slipped into the building, leaving Foggy to follow or not.

Foggy followed.

Now Matt could hear the heartbeats: four, all clustered close together on the first floor in what he assumed was some kind office, judging by the low _whirring_ sound of several expensive-sounding computers. Not bad odds…except with Foggy in tow.

“Hey,” Matt murmured. “How dark d’you think it’ll be in here if I cut the lights?”

“Uh…very,” Foggy said nervously. “No windows this deep in.”

Great; time for a detour. “This way.” Matt led Foggy around a sharp corner and down to the basement, stopping at the bottom steps. Foggy’s breath came in short, anxious puffs behind him. It sounded like he was trying so hard to breathe quietly that he was barely breathing at all.

“Stay here,” Matt whispered, shoving Foggy into a corner.

“Matt, what—”

“Stay _here_. I’ll come back for you. And whatever you do, don’t turn this on.” With that, Matt reached for the breaker and cut the power throughout the building.

He heard curses from above, and a rough voice yelling, “Wait—stay there!”

Nice.

Matt took off back up the stairs, confident that Foggy would stay put. Because Foggy was scared—scared of the criminals slinking through this building and also a little bit scared of Matt. He wouldn’t risk drawing attention to himself with a light, and he wouldn’t risk sneaking around in the dark.

Still, Matt was mindful that Foggy would _eventually_ venture out from the basement, if only to check Matt’s work, so to speak. Which meant Matt had to take care not to leave too much carnage behind. So Matt opted for stealth even though he had no doubt he could tear through three guards and Latimer Zyl at once, even without his old armor.

One of the guards was trundling down the entryway straight towards the basement stairs; straight towards Matt; straight towards _Foggy_. Matt stepped smoothly in front of him, sinking his fist into the guard’s throat. The other man gagged, shocked yell cut short, while Matt kicked his leg, knocking him off balance, and set his hands firmly on the man’s shoulders, jerking him down and twisting his body at the last second so the side of his temple crashed into Matt’s knee.

The man slumped to the floor, motionless.

Nudging him aside with his boot, Matt kept going. He stopped before rounding the corner leading to the office and sank noiselessly into a low crouch. poking his head around the corner to the hallway leading to the office. The guards were positioned on either side of the office’s door, smelling of gunpowder. Well, Matt could try to wait them out, could try to draw them away, could try to come up with any plan other than just throwing himself into the fray.

But he didn’t know how long Foggy would stay still.

Taking a deep breath, Matt flipped forward, arcing his body through the air more for show than for any practical effect, aiming to startle.

_BANG!_

One of the guns went off; the bullet whizzed past his ear just before he landed. While the guard fumbled to cock the weapon again, Matt knocked it from his grasp. The gun skidded across the floor and the guard joined it on the ground a second later, knocked out from Matt’s fist.

_BANG!_

The final guard missed, jerking his weapon at the last second as he tried to flinch away from the spinning kick Matt sent his direction. It didn’t work; Matt’s heel caught his chin, snapping his head back. Matt grabbed the gun, twisted it, and jerked, forcing the guard to let go or have his fingers broken. The guard still tried to put up a fight, launching himself tactlessly at Matt. Matt simply sidestepped, caught the guard with the crook of an arm around the other man’s throat, and tightened his hold until his enemy turned limp.

In less than five seconds, Matt had caught his breath.

 

Foggy

_BANG! BANG!_

Not good, not good, not good.

Foggy was no fool; he knew exactly why Matt stuck him down here in this creepy dark basement that was probably full of spiders and dead bodies and probably dead spiders: Matt thought he couldn’t handle whatever was about to happen.

Matt was probably right.

But Matt’s selfless and martery Catholicism was apparently rubbing off just enough that Foggy didn’t really care what he could or couldn’t handle as long as he got to maybe keep Matt from self-destructing (more).

So as soon as Foggy heard the gunshots, he dashed forward paying no heed to whatever nasty things he might trip over or step in. He did kind of trip going up the stairs, but that was reasonable.

He also tripped over an unconscious guy on the floor, which was…somewhere in the twilight zone between reasonable and unreasonable.

He didn’t trip over the other two forms splayed out in the hallway, but that was only because there was just enough light drifting in from the kitchen that he could see them. If the cops showed up, they’d say there were signs of a struggle. Sure, to the extent that the guards obviously struggled.

Matt, though?

From the looks of things, Matt had been utterly, brutally efficient.

He’d also left the guns behind, like an idiot. What if one of these guys woke up? A shiver ran down Foggy’s spine, but he picked up both weapons and made sure his grip was secure with his fingers far away from the triggers. He didn’t want to either drop them or fire them if something startled him.

Then he followed the sound of Matt’s voice (low, dangerous, unfamiliar) into the office. Matt loomed over an old dude huddled behind his desk who looked like a stereotypical Amish grandpa with his scraggly gray beard, his unreasonably tall black top hat, and round glasses with spindly frames. Obviously, Grandpa was a criminal, with the lamplight casting creepy shadows across his terror-struck face. Still, Foggy found himself privately hoping Matt wouldn’t have to beat this guy up.

“Who are you?” Latimer Zyl demanded, like he was trying to sound tough.

Matt kept his voice low as he drew closer. “You know who I am.”

“Stop!” he wheezed.

Matt, to Foggy’s surprise, stopped. “Listen. I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Really?” Zyl’s eyes flicked towards Foggy, dropped down to the guns, then darted back up to Matt. “What for, then?”

“An opportunity,” Matt answered quietly. “Wilson Fisk is about to go down. I’m offering you the chance to not go down with him.”

Zyl flinched at the name, but he mostly kept his voice from trembling. “Fat boy’s doing his own thing. You want him brought down, go take him down.”

Matt took a single step closer, starting to move around the desk now. “I have it on good authority,” he said slowly, “that Fisk wants a lot to do with you. Namely, your money.”

The tension was thick enough you could cut it with a knife or scissors or maybe even a metal spatula, but Foggy took a moment to appreciate being referred to, even obliquely, as _good authority_.

Zyl laughed shakily. “I’m not giving Fisk my _money_ , boy.”

Foggy wondered if Matt was usually referred to as “boy” while wearing the mask. Probably not.

“No,” Matt agreed, taking another step closer (Zyl backed up accordingly, running into his cushy office chair, which squeaked on its hinges). “Because you’re gonna turn yourself in to the NYPD and the U.S. Attorney’s Office and confess your entire criminal network. Wanna know how I know?”

Zyl cleared his throat. “You’re not—”

“Because if you don’t, I’m going to break several bones in your legs and dangle you off this roof until you pass out. You won’t know what I do to you after that, but you’ll wake up unable to talk. You’ll have to write out your confession and sign it. Just for that, I’ll leave your fingers unbroken.” He paused. “You know what I’ve done to your men. You know it’ll be even easier to do it to you.”

Zyl looked only slightly more terrified than Foggy felt.

“In fact…” Matt reached casually across the desk, gloved hand unerringly finding Zyl’s phone on his desk. “Call 9-1-1. Ask to speak to Detective Brett Mahoney. And tell him the _real_ Daredevil sent you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Thank you for your patience with this! I got a bit stuck trying to figure out which of Fisk's allies Matt and Foggy should go after first and I finally went with Latimer Zyl just because I found, like, zero information on him so I didn't have to worry about merging the facts of my fic with canon facts. Also, classes just started for me so I can't promise my updates will get any quicker. Again, thank you so much for sticking with this story! <3


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys guys guys I have a super cool interview tomorrow!
> 
> Anyway, special thanks to guest A for randomly commenting after I hadn't updated in forever; it was super sweet and unlocked something in my brain that led to writing like 6,000 words in two days. A, you're my hero!

Foggy

Matt didn’t leave until Zyl did, in fact, make the call. He also didn’t leave until the police arrived and handcuffed the criminal. Since Matt and Foggy were also technically criminals, that fact made Foggy _extremely_ uncomfortable. Which Matt was obviously aware of, with his super everything. Which left Foggy wondering if Matt just didn’t care…or if he was pushing the limits on purpose, just to see when Foggy broke.

If he was _hoping_ Foggy broke.

Well, too bad. Foggy wasn’t gonna let Matt do anything he’d hate himself for later, not now that Foggy _finally_ had him almost back.

But Foggy could begrudgingly admit that Matt was pretty good at not getting himself arrested, and apparently that skill extended to not letting Foggy get arrested either, because they both made it out of there without handcuffs. Tired and sweaty and hungry, in Foggy’s case, but free.

“One down,” Foggy announced, like they didn’t both know. “Four to go.”

Matt paused, cocked his head, and held out his hand for a fist bump with a small, shy smile.

It made Foggy’s stomach all gooey. He tapped his fist against Matt’s (considerably bloodier one).

“Good thinking with the guns,” Matt said. He’d stolen them back from Foggy almost immediately, mouth twisted in disgust, and dismantled them with startling alacrity. Now he was depositing the different pieces in various dumpsters as they walked along.

“Thanks,” Foggy said smugly. “So who’s next?”

“Hammer,” Matt decided. “John Hammer.”

Foggy racked his brains. “Right. Smuggling, trafficking, kidnapping.” The guy ran his criminal operations out of a garage where he repaired trucks and, according to rumor, occasionally tortured people.

All traces of softness to Matt’s face vanished. “I should’ve taken him out already, but he’s only just recently expanded to Hell’s Kitchen. Maybe because word got around that Daredevil was…not active.”

Foggy nudged his shoulder. “All the more reason to prove him wrong, right, buddy?”

Matt still looked unhappy—trust Matt Murdock to beat himself up over stuff that happened while he was literally unconscious. He set off resolutely in…some direction, Foggy didn’t even know; Matt’s back alley routes through Hell’s Kitchen had left him thoroughly discombobulated.

And that was when Foggy realized that they weren’t taking a break, not even for a snack or a nap. Matt was on the hunt and probably didn’t realize he was hungry, probably didn’t even feel his feet hurting. (Did his feet hurt? Maybe Foggy should get better shoes.)

Trudging after him, Foggy stifled a yawn. “So are you gonna talk to her?”

Matt slowed down just slightly, which was nice. “Who?”

“You know, your…your…mother.” And yeah, it was probably not fair to spring this on Matt while they were on a mission, but Foggy couldn’t help hoping that springing it on him while they were more or less stuck together would force Matt to at least _begin_ processing the revelation.

Matt’s silhouette, backlit by dim streetlights, seemed to sharpen. “Probably,” he said stiffly.

“Okay, because…it’s crazy man.”

Matt’s head turned, giving the impression that he was sending Foggy an incredulous look over his shoulder.

“I mean, I know a lot of it sucks, but I’m actually really happy for you, if…if that helps.”

“Thanks,” Matt said flatly. “It doesn’t.”

Well, that was…fair. Still. It was a mess, but it was also a little bit of possible happiness. After all, Matt said she’d been caring for him ever since he survived Midland Circle, which, yeah that was almost cruel that she’d do it without telling him who she was, but it also meant that the two of them must kind of get along, right? Since otherwise Matt would’ve struck out on his own as soon as he was able, which would’ve been at least around the time Matt stole Fogy’s bar card. Instead, he’d stuck around the church. Around the nun. Around his mother.

Clearing his throat, Foggy tried again. “Look, I just wanted to say, when you guys decide to talk, I could come with you, if you want.”

Matt actually stopped this time, and turned fully around. “Why?”

Why would Matt want that or why would Foggy offer? Foggy searched awkwardly for words. “I mean, if you think it’d help. Moral support or whatever. Because you and I, Matt? We’re family too.”

Maybe that was an insensitive thing to say, but Foggy wasn’t about to let some nun show up out of the blue and make Matt question everything he and Foggy had built together over the years.

Matt visibly swallowed, lips parting every so slightly before pressing firmly together again. His jaw tightened and he swung back around, walking even faster.

Biting back a sigh, Foggy followed after him. Note to self: don’t say emotional stuff like that in the middle of missions.

They wound their way through the underbellies of Hell’s Kitchen without speaking. Seemed impossible that this was the same city Foggy knew so well. Though he knew, anyway. Now he was seeing dark corners and hard edges, the unfamiliar clashing with the familiar.

“What’re the odds he knows we’re coming?” Matt asked suddenly as they were walking down a particularly narrow alley that smelled heavily of oil and left Foggy feeling claustrophobic.

 _You_ , Foggy corrected silently. _What’re the odds he knows_ you’re _coming._ “Not high,” he said out loud. “It’s not like Hammer and Zyl were buds or anything.”

“Good,” Matt said grimly.

Foggy recognized that voice from right before any trial that Matt thought he _had_ to win. (He thought he had to win all of them.) And really, was this so different? Just…fists instead of words. And no rules. And deadly weapons, maybe. But, like, same general concept.

“Here,” Matt said abruptly—all the warning Foggy got before Matt stepped sideways, swung himself upwards, and disappeared through a dark hole in an outer wall.

This night was doing wonders for Foggy’s aerobics. And maybe he got a little cocky since he hadn’t managed to completely ruin their first attempt, because he tried to copy Matt’s graceful move and ended up ramming his knee against the wall. That was gonna hurt tomorrow. But eventually he managed to wriggle his way up and through the window, landing in some kind of dingy waiting room with plastic chairs and an old water cooler. The light was off, but there was an orangish light coming from under a door. On the other side, Foggy could hear machinery at work.

Matt rested the palm of one hand against the door, looking very much like a Jedi. “Guns,” he murmured. “Listen, Foggy, no matter what you think’s happening, I need you to stay here. All right?”

Unlike some people in the room, Foggy was not one for making promises he wasn’t sure he could keep. He didn’t answer.

Matt dropped his hand away from the door. “If I’m out there worrying about you doing something stupid, one of us will get hurt.”

He said it with such utter certainty that Foggy believed him no matter how hard he fought it. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll stay.”

Matt’s lips curved in…not a smile, no, but something appreciative.

“But I’m here if you need me,” Foggy said urgently, even though he couldn’t really imagine what Matt might need him for given that only one of them was a ninja. “Got it?”

To his credit, Matt sounded equally serious when he said, “Got it.” Then he cracked open the door, stuck his hand out, and flicked off the lights in the main garage.

Someone let out a shocked curse and all sounds of machinery stopped.

Matt was already gone, like a shadow melting into more shadows, like the silent serial killer from ten-year-old Foggy’s nightmares. Quite without his permission, Foggy’s brain started worrying about the bad guys, despite the fact that he was almost drowning in worry for Matt.

The first scream made Foggy jump. The next thing he heard was an unmistakable snapping sound. Gunfire exploded, but the fact that it kept going assured Foggy that Matt was still alive, still moving, still wreaking destruction.

Foggy wasn’t religious, but his mouth started whispering a silent prayer, both for Matt and for the guys he was fighting, which felt like some serious cognitive dissonance but he was pretty sure God, if he was real, would make sense of it somehow.

All of a sudden, the gunfire cut off. There wasn’t any warning sign, no crashes or even curses. Just sudden silence.

Foggy’s heart leapt into his throat. Matt’s voice echoed in his head— _stay here, stay here, stay here_ —but he couldn’t handle not knowing what was happening out there. Ducking out of the corner, he crept towards the door, risked turning the knob, and peered into the garage.

The room wasn’t pitch black; there was a light on at a workbench, just enough to illuminate where Matt was crouched over the man who sort of resembled John Hammer…once you looked past the blood smeared all over his face and the obviously broken nose. Matt’s mouth moved quickly, but his voice was too low for Foggy to make out his words. Other than the slightest twitch of Matt’s head, he gave no indication that he’d noticed Foggy at all.

Nor did anyone else, although it wasn’t hard to see why: everyone else was on the ground in various states of gruesome defeat.

And it wasn’t like these people were good guys. Honestly, the part that made Fogy’s stomach roll wasn’t the damage done but the fact that it was Foggy’s best friend who’d done it.

Foggy must’ve blinked or something, because the next thing he knew was that said best friend was on his feet. Foggy’s eyes locked automatically onto a bloody tear across Matt’s chest. Not from a bullet—from some kind of jagged thing. But it didn’t exactly slow Matt down. The vigilante darted across the room, lithely dodging around the goons littering the floor.

“Did he say—” Foggy started to ask.

“Someone’s coming.” Matt grabbed Foggy by the back of his hoodie like a mother cat plucking up her errant kitten by the scruff, hauling him bodily out of the room.

“Who?” Foggy hissed, trying to regain his dignity.

The lower half of Matt’s face was grim and pale and…scared. “It’s Nadeem. And the FBI.”

 


	23. Chapter 23

Ray

The scene was carnage. Even with the lights off, the bright blue and lurid green walls would’ve been almost cheerful if it weren’t for the men lying on the ground in their work uniforms. The agents split up to secure the unconscious men, but Ray headed straight for the one criminal still awake.

Hammer.

Agent Ramsey was at his side, looming over Hammer’s supine body. “You’re coming with us.”

Hammer’s bloodshot eyes dilated with fear. “No, no, you’re not FBI!”

Feeling ill, Ray flashed his badge.

“You’re with Fisk,” Hammer insisted. “Yeah? That’s what he said!”

“Who said?” Ramsey demanded.

“Daredevil!”

Ramsey shot a look at Ray, who kept his expression neutral and focused on Hammer. “I can assure you, Mr. Hammer, we’re not _with Fisk_. We’re agents of the United States Government and it’s in your best interest to come with us. Now.”

Hammer shook his head, baring his bloody teeth in a grimace as the motion made more blood run from his nostrils. “No.”

“Excuse me?” Ramsey drawled.

Hammer spat blood in his face. “I said no! Kill me, kill all of us. I’m not gonna be Fisk’s toy!”

Ramsey’s eyes narrowed. “You wanna die? That what I’m hearing?”

Hammer froze.

Stepping back, Ramsey inclined his head towards Ray and lowered his voice, like he was discussing a potentially sensitive negotiation and would really rather not be overheard. “Less money for the Kingpin if this guy bites it.”

“Yeah,” Ray agreed quickly, alarmed by the calculating look on the other agent’s face.

“But maybe Daredevil’s gonna get to the others,” Ramsey went on thoughtfully. “Get ’em to be more scared of him than of the Kingpin. So maybe we should send a message.”

Ray’s insides turned cold. “That’s not our call.”

Ramsey pulled out his phone. “I hear ya.” He tapped a button and held the phone to his ear. “Yeah, Boss. We got a situation here. Hammer was already subdued when we arrived. He’s all bloodied up, claims Daredevil warned him that Kingpin’s looking for him. Said we’re connected, won’t come with us.” A pause. “Yeah, won’t. We could take him in, but he’s not gonna cooperate. Says he’d have us kill him first.” Another pause. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.” He glanced around the room. “No, he’s the only one conscious. Yeah, we could come back for the rest of ’em. Okay, Boss. Yes, Ma’am.”

He slipped the phone back into his pocket.

Ray’s mouth was dry, heart racing in his ears.

Ramsey leaned over Hammer. “Last chance. Come with us, or I’ll let you choose whether you take the bullet in your heart or your brain.”

“Wait,” Ray burst out. “We can’t—”

“Kingpin’s gotta be credible,” Ramsey said grimly. He kicked Hammer’s shoulder. “What’ll it be?”

Hammer gasped for breath, trying to squirm backwards on the floor; Ramsey stepped casually around to block him. “Wait—wait—wait—”

Ray was staring at Hammer in terror, but then he made the mistake of looking up. At Ramsey.

Ramsey’s eyes were narrowed. Still calculating. “Let’s see it, Ray. Give the man what he wants.”

The camera was on, running, recording all of this. But it wouldn’t implicate anyone but Ray and Ramsey, not when they couldn’t even prove that it was Hattley who’d answered the phone.

“Let’s just bring him in,” Ray countered, keeping his voice even.

Ramsey gave a slow shake of his head. “Send the message.”

There was no way Hammer was walking out of here alive. Did it matter if Ray killed him a few minutes before Ramsey got around to it?

Of course it mattered.

Ray steeled himself. “I can’t—”

A dark shadow burst from a doorway, letting out a yell. Two things happened in rapid succession: Hammer jerked backwards to escape, and Ramsey discharged his weapon.

The bullet punched straight through Hammer’s throat.

 

Karen

She pulled up to the neighborhood but parked down the road from the home. There wasn’t much time to waste, but she was trying to _not_ throw herself thoughtlessly into danger…except when necessary.

Seemed clear.

But she kept her gun in her hand, tucked just under her jacket. Anyone who looked too closely would see she was carrying, but maybe the next-door stay-at-home mom wouldn’t call the cops on her.

Nadeem’s house looked picture perfect. Two stories, a garage, a large backyard, a welcoming porch…she could imagine sitting there with her mom, back before both their lives went to shit.

The Nadeems had a secret pattern of knocks to alert the family when it was another family member at the door instead of a stranger. Karen followed Nadeem’s instruction and raised her hand to knock, knock-knock, knock.

Seema opened the door breathlessly. “Karen Page? Ray said you would—”

Forcing past her into the house, Karen pulled the door shut and locked it. “You ready to go?”

Eyes wide, Seema nodded.

A small boy, Sami, peered around the corner into another room. “You saw my dad?”

Despite the urgency, Karen smiled. “Yeah, I did. I’m Karen, by the way. You must be Sami. Your dad says you’re really brave.”

Sami hesitated, but he answered with a small smile.

Karen tucked her gun more securely under her jacket. “Your dad’s being really brave, too.”

“I know,” he said instantly.

“Sami, get your things,” Seema murmured.

Sami darted back into the room, reappearing a moment later with a heavy backpack and a baseball cap pulled low over his face.

Seema quickly averted her eyes from her son, glancing at Karen long enough for Karen to see the fear in her eyes. Seema’s two bags were right by the door; she ducked down to grab them. Karen would’ve offered to help, but since she was the only one with a weapon, encumbering herself seemed like a dangerous idea.

“Okay,” Karen said. “We’ve got a house that’ll be safe for you. We’ll take my car.” And that was honestly the part she was most worried about—it used to be Ben’s, but the FBI could easily trace her through it. “Just act normal.” She turned towards the door.

And heard a knock.

One look at Seema’s face told Karen she wasn’t expecting company. Karen drew her gun from under her jacket.

“Mom?” Sami whispered.

Seema shushed him with a silent, slashing gesture.

There was another knock, this one brisker and more energetic than before. “Hey, Seema! It’s Dex!”

Seema backed noiselessly towards Sami. Karen drew the hammer back on her handgun. She remembered everything about the Bulletin attack, about Dex confronting her, so she knew exactly how tall he was. Where his heart was.

She aimed the gun with care at the doorway.

“Seema,” Dex called. “Come out, come out. C’mon, I know you’re home. I just needed to talk to you. Ray sent me.”

Sami’s eyes flashed with anger at Dex’s use of his father’s name.

Karen concentrated on keeping her breathing even, keeping the gun steady.

“Karen,” Seema breathed.

Karen dared to take her eyes off the door long enough to follow Seema’s gaze towards the living room. A shadow moved across the window.

Okay. So there were at least two.

“Seema,” Dex sighed. “I’m gonna count to five.”

“Sami,” Karen hissed. “Get under something.” She didn’t look to see if he followed instructions, instead fixing her eyes on the door.

“One…”

Something touched Karen’s back and she jumped, almost pulling the trigger, but it was just Seema.

“Two…”

“Get out of here,” Seema said urgently.

“Three…”

“He doesn’t know you’re here, just get out—”

“Four….”

Gritting her teeth, Karen shook her head.

“Five!”

 _CRACK_.

_BANG._

The door swung inward, the wood by the lock splintered, as Dex kicked it open. Karen fired almost at the same time, but the moving door altered the trajectory. The bullet grazed Dex’s arm, made him yelp, but he kept coming.

Karen fired again. She wasn’t thinking; it was sheer survival. But Dex had already dropped to the ground. He didn’t have his gun out, must not’ve been expecting a fight, but he swiped up one of Sami’s shoes left by the front door and threw it. It knocked the gun from Karen’s hands despite her best efforts to hold on.

 _CRASH_. The living room window shattered; another agent stepped casually through the glass.

“Don’t, don’t,” Seema was whispering. “Don’t, _stop!_ ” Her voice rose to a scream as Dex pulled out his gun.

Wincing dramatically, he got to his feet. “Calm down, Seema. I’m not gonna use this on you.” He walked closer, shoulders back, eyes glinting, and stopped in front of Karen, who stood stock still between him and Seema. Blood stained his sleeve. He didn’t seem to care. “Hello, Karen,” he said quietly. “It’s good to see you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments mean so much to me, guys, seriously. <3


	24. Chapter 24

Matt

Hammer was dying—no, dead; choked on his own blood, and not from Ray’s doing. Meaning Matt’s job here was done. New priority: get out alive _without_ leading anyone back to Foggy.

Shoulder-rolling behind a car, Matt pressed himself against the back bumper, hearing Ray and the other agents (there were three of them) shouting at each other.

_Keep it together, Ray. Don’t worry about me._

But Ray was still shouting and Hammer’s heart had stopped beating and the other agents were trying to sneak around the car. Matt added a third priority to his mental list: keep Ray from blowing his own cover out of a misguided attempt to keep Matt alive.

Chaos. Matt needed chaos.

The lights were still off, but he remembered the wide spread of heat they’d emitted. Big lights; breakable lights? Only one way to find out. He snatched up the nearest tool—nice of the garage to supply so many weapons; he hated to think what Agent Poindexter could do with it all if he’d been sent here—and threw it over his head. Something glass-like shattered, accompanied by some loud _SNAP-ZAP_ sounds.

A gun went off like the other agent was startled. Matt ignored it—bullets were easy to ignore until they hit you—and ducked behind another car, trying to dart from cover to cover until he reached a door, a flow of fresher air.

It was one of his less reckless plans so he really had high hopes for it.

But.

“Ray, go around!” one of the other agents shouted, the one who’d shot Hammer. At the same time, Matt caught the tiniest _click_ as he unhooked something from his belt. Something round-ish flew through the air.

No, no, nononono—

This time, there was no Karen to shelter and anchor his senses when the flashbang went off. A shrill ring pierced his ears and smoke caught in his nose, his throat. Matt pressed a hand against the van he was hiding behind, felt vibrations as the agents closed in, two on either side of the car. He had no idea where the others were.

And he had no idea which was Ray.

All he could do was make a desperate guess and hope he’d get lucky. He went towards what should be an exit unless he’d gotten turned around, staying low to the ground and skimming one gloved hand along the van.

He felt more than heard something lunging in close and he instinctively brought up his hands. Not that he could do much damage. Sure enough, whoever was coming at him grabbed his arms. Ray, then. Had to be Ray or else Matt would be dead. Still, the other agents were watching; Daredevil couldn’t exactly relax into the arms of an FBI agent.

_Sorry, Ray._

Matt drove his elbow into Ray’s ribs, felt Ray’s gasp as his fingers sprang apart.

_C’mon, Ray, give him a show._

Ray’s fist caught Matt in the mouth, splitting his lip. Matt almost grinned. Instead, he lashed out, catching Ray’s wrist and twisting it, spinning Ray around and using him as a shield, backing towards the door as his hearing started to come back online.

He couldn’t hear anyone’s heartbeat; he couldn’t hear the finger on the trigger, not over the ringing in his ears. But he _could_ hear the low whisper, the apology.

“Sorry, Ray.”

Horror was a punch in the gut. Matt shoved Ray bodily aside just in time for the bullet to blaze through his left shoulder. The spot that always made his dad laugh when they watched movies together.

 _Everyone acts like it’s no big deal to get shot there,_ he’d say. _People I know say that’s bullshit._

What people, Matt always wanted to ask.

Anyway, those people were right.

Pain flooded his senses, made his head spin. Two more shots rang out, sinking into a vehicle Matt ducked behind. He stumbled in the direction of the exit while Ray yelled something else, and whatever he said was enough to buy Matt one second, maybe two, just enough time to fall out the door and around a wall.

But the other agents had to be hot on his tail. His senses were still off, but not so badly he couldn’t find a dumpster. Classic New York dumpster, always had his back. He scrambled from the dumpster to the roof, then onto an adjacent roof, and on and on until his lungs forced him to stop very much without his permission.

Was it normal to be this winded? He lungs weren’t even _hurt._

But slowing down made the actual wound hurt even more, searing into his awareness now that he had no forward motion to focus on. Gritting his teeth, Matt caught his breath.

Okay. Okay.

That didn’t go _great_.

And Matt and Ray should definitely have discussed what to do in this situation.

But, like, it could’ve been worse? Hammer was dead, but Ray was still alive, and as far as Matt could tell, none of the other agents realized the limits of Ray’s loyalty. And Foggy was safe, Foggy _must_ be safe, Foggy wouldn’t be so stupid as to wait around with gunshots, would he?

Would he?

Matt hadn’t heard him come back. And Foggy _wasn’t_ stupid. Panicking right now, yeah, but not stupid.

Breathing in slowly through his nose, Matt tentatively moved his shoulder. Bad idea, that was a lot of pain, a _lot_ of pain. But it told him the bullet had torn straight through him: smaller entry wound, larger exit wound. Lots of blood, lots of screaming nerves, but at least the bullet wasn’t inside him.

He should…he should find Foggy. He almost certainly could track Foggy down still. If he didn’t bleed out first. But…he closed his eyes against a wave of dizziness…that was maybe not so likely.

Then again, stalking Foggy was no longer Matt’s only way to contact him. He pulled the new burner out of his pocket, the one whose mate he’d given to Karen, and punched in Foggy’s number. He’d memorized it back when he had his old burner, since he didn’t want to incriminate Foggy by adding him to Daredevil’s phone, and now he knew it by heart.

Matt listed a bit to the side and bumped up against…a wall, some kind of rooftop shed? He tapped in Foggy’s number.

Seconds later, he heard Foggy's irate on-the-edge-of-panic voice. “If you’re an insurance company, I’m serious, this is the _worst_ time and I _will_ sue you for emotional distress once I—”

“Foggy,” Matt rasped.

“Matt!” Foggy yelped. “I heard shots, are you—”

“I’m fine, I got out of there. But, listen, I’m gonna need a pit stop. You can meet me there if you want.” But he didn’t have to, not if Foggy was rethinking whatever it was that made him want to follow Daredevil around.

“A _pit stop?_ ” Foggy blurted out. “The hell you need a pit stop for?”

Was Foggy’s voice always so loud? Matt leaned his head back against the wall, eyes sliding closed. “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine. I’ll text you the address.”

“Or you could just, y’know, _tell me where we’re going_.”

Matt didn’t want to say that out loud any more than he wanted to admit he’d gotten shot. He was a terrible friend. “I’m texting you the address.” With that, he hung up and sent Foggy the address to Clinton Church.

He was a terrible friend, but at least he could do this one thing that would make Foggy happy.

 

Her scent was smoke and dust and incense and vanilla lotion that reminded Matt of sugar cookies. Outside the church, Matt’s throat tightened up, which was fine, because what was he supposed to say to her anyway? Better to just show up and let her fix him and not explain why he’d left before leaving again.

She was talking to a kid, her voice calm and loving the way Matt remembered it, with a hint of amusement as she commented on the exaggerated story the eight-year-old was telling her.

Matt didn’t want to interrupt and the bleeding really wasn’t urgent, so he just…listened. Let the two voices weave together until he suddenly realized the kid had run off and Maggie was making her way back into the church and down, down into the basement.

Without making a sound, Matt followed.

She went to sit on the bed he’d left behind, pulling something out of her pocket as she did. He didn’t need his senses to know she was holding the little cross necklace.

Swallowing, Matt stepped into the room. “Sister?”

Her head snapped up. “Matthew…”

And with that, with just the way she said his name, he realized she knew that he knew.

She cleared her throat. “You’re hurt.”

“A little.”

She was on her feet right away; she drew closer like she couldn’t help it. “What in—is that a bullet wound?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“I’ll get the—”

“M—”

She froze.

His right hand tightened into a fist at his side. “Thank you. Maggie.”

She swept around the corner into the closet, returning with the bulky first aid kit. More of a bag now, really. She’d been adding to it ever since he started his convalescence, which left Matt with several conflicting emotions he’d rather not parse out right now. She stepped in front of him, about five feet away. “You…you should sit.”

Matt walked awkwardly across to the bed.

She’d cleaned the sheets.

“Your shirt,” she said quietly.

Locking his jaw, Matt reached back and pulled the shirt over his head. The sticky blood tugged at the wound. He sensed her reaching for him so her touch wasn’t a surprise, but he still tensed when he felt her fingers brushing against his skin.

She cleaned the wound without speaking. He was used to her berating him while she healed him, much like Claire always did, so this silence was…uncomfortable. He tried to clear his throat but really couldn’t think of anything to say.

She picked up needle and thread. “Lean forward?” He did, resting his elbows gingerly on his knees, giving her access to the jagged, messier exit wound. Better to start there before he lost more blood. She held her body carefully away from him, not touching him except with the tips of her fingers.

Like he was made of glass, like _they_ were made of glass.

He bit the inside of his cheek from the cold stab of the needle. “I,” he began.

She spoke at the same time: “What—”

“I, uh—” He stopped. “Go ahead.”

“No, you.”

“Sister,” he said softly.

She gave herself about twenty seconds, apparently focusing on driving the needle in and out, before she said, “Father Lantom told me.”

Matt nodded.

“He said you…he said you found out.”

He nodded again.

“I…” She trailed off. “I don’t know what to say.”

That made two of them.

She tied it off, dabbed at the excess blood with a fluffy towel, and pulled back. “You can sit up.”

He followed instructions, feeling his skin tug at the new stitches as he straightened up. But they held. Like he’d said before: her stitches were perfect.

Swallowing audibly, she started on the entry wound, her breath ghosting over his bare chest. “I know Paul told you about…why,” she said suddenly. “As much as he could, anyway. But all of that is just an explanation. I don’t have an excuse.”

“I’m not asking for one.”

“What are you asking for?”

That was too big of a question. “I just…wanted to talk to you.”

“I’m here,” she said immediately.

He kept his eyes almost straight ahead, but he suddenly wanted her to know what he used to be like. Because she must’ve been so disappointed when he woke up with no hope and barely any fight left. Why couldn’t she have met him a year ago, when Nelson and Murdock was thriving and he was dating Karen? When he was _functional?_ “I just wanted to say I, uh…I wasn’t always this way.”

She made a politely confused sound. Before this fragility descended between them, she would’ve sarcastically asked if he was referring to the bullet or maybe his general idiocy.

“When you found me,” he tried to explain, “it was…bad. The worst it’s ever been. But I used to have a law firm, and a friend—” Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just that—it’s just that—it got bad.”

The needle paused. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“Not your fault.”

“I’m…” She started stitching again, closing the last few centimeters. “I’m sorry for a lot of things.”

What was he supposed to say to that?

Tying off the stitches, she set the soiled supplies aside and spread bandages over the wounds. Then she pulled away, with no further excuse to touch him.

Matt reached for his shirt, grimacing as the stitches strained with the motion, and pulled it over his head. “Anyway. Thank you for…taking care of me.”

“It wasn’t the worst injury I’ve seen,” she said wryly. “Especially not on you.”

“I mean—I mean, thank you for…” His eyes stung, although he was probably just tired. He sniffed loudly. “For taking care of me all these years.”

“I…” She tensed for whatever she was about to say, then simply stood up and walked across the room to fill a glass with water. “You were such a good kid.”

Matt laughed dryly. “I really wasn’t. I was always fighting, and—”

“You only fought bullies,” she cut in, returning to his side and holding out the glass. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Tilting his head, he took the glass but didn’t drink from it. “Still. I probably should’ve gotten in trouble even more than I did.”

“Ah.” A hint of a tiny smile stole into her voice as she stood in front of him, hugging herself. “I may have…covered for you, a few times.”

“Wait, really?”

“Don’t tell Father Lantom.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I won’t if you won’t. I guess not much has changed in that regard.”

“Excuse me?”

“Swearing the nuns to secrecy, commandeering the whole basement for me…”

“It, um…” Her head turned away. “It was good to be with you.”

“Yeah,” he agreed in a whisper. He shifted his weight; the mattress creaked. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go. My friend Foggy, he thinks he figured out—”

“Friend?” she piped up.

Not this again. “Uh…well…” Matt stammered.

“He’s helping you?”

“We’re helping each other.”

“Where is he?” She craned her neck like she expected to spot Foggy hiding behind some shelves.

“I don’t know.” On his way here, probably, but something made Matt keep the words back.

“But you’re going back to find him?” Maggie asked.

“Well, it’d be easier to do what I have to without—”

Her sigh was more disappointed than her words could ever be.

Matt blinked. “Sister, he’s not…used to what I do. The way I do it.”

“Oh, right. I forgot you have a phobia of letting people in.”

And where could he _possibly_ have gotten that from?

“Well,” she said after a beat, “that probably doesn’t mean much, coming from me.”

He couldn’t really disagree, so he didn’t say anything.

Slowly, she sat down on the bed beside him. Two feet away. “But it’s not hypocrisy, Matthew. I just don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did.”

“Appreciate it,” he said tightly.

She hesitated, then reached out and touched his arm, a tough so light that he could barely feel it through his sleeve. “Go find your friend.”

“He’s, uh…actually…” She needed to know. “I think he’s coming here. He knows I was shot, and I…” Matt’s words turned into a mumble despite himself. “I told him I needed help.”

“Oh,” she said faintly.

“So I was…I was wondering, could…could I…” He felt his cheeks go hot; he was a _lawyer_ , he was supposed to be good at talking. “Until he comes, I was wondering, could I…stay here?”

“Yes,” she said before he’d finished the sentence. “Yes, you can stay.” Then she was on her feet again, like the moment was too heavy for stillness. “I’ll get you some food, if you want. What else do you need?”

“Can I just…lie down a moment?”

“Of course.” She reached out to fluff at the pillow before jerking her hand back like it’d sprouted thorns. But then she took a deep breath and held out her other hand, the hand holding the cross.

He shook his head.

That was pushing things just a little too far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MATT WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO GET SHOT and I swear I'm in control of this story I just-


	25. Chapter 25

Dex

Ray was such a liar. After all those years of being on the force together, being part of the _FBI family_ , this was all it took for him to flip?

And there was Seema, staring at Dex in horror like Dex hadn’t saved Ray’s life just a few days ago during the motorcade attack.

(Maybe he should’ve just let them all die. Fisk, too. All of them. Maybe then he wouldn’t be stuck in the middle now.)

And there was Karen Page. The reporter who was obsessed with Daredevil. Kind of cute that she’d thought she could take him. Cute that she’d shown up here at all even though she obviously knew the risks. Impressive, really. Definitely didn’t seem like _her_ moral compass needed any help. She was her own north star.

Dex made a split-second decision and did not shoot a bullet through her forehead, although he kept his gun aimed at his target. “Seema, Sami, Karen. Let’s go.”

“Where?” Karen demanded. Her force was strong and thin at the same time. Like the rest of her, really.

“Presidential Hotel.” He jerked his head at Mockter flanking them, and Mockter pulled out his handcuffs. Dex kept his gun trained on Karen, but he moved around to drop his hand heavily on Sami’s shoulder, figuring Seema and Karen wouldn’t try anything if he had the kid.

But he could almost literally see Karen’s mind racing. Trying to come up with a way out of this. For another second, Dex thought it would be better to just shoot her now. His finger tightened over the trigger.

Still. What scheme could she possibly come up with to get her, Seema, _and_ Sami out alive if Dex brought them to the Presidential Hotel? To the FBI. To _Fisk_.

Karen seemed to realize the hopelessness of her situation at the same time because her breath suddenly became shaky. It was more than a little bit satisfying, watching her defiance slide off her face like melted wax. While Dex kept his hand on Sami’s shoulder, Mockter approached to cuff Seema and Karen’s blue eyes became watery and red-rimmed. Her lips pressed into a thin line like she was afraid she’d start screaming if she opened her mouth.

Dex knew the feeling. He drummed his fingers on Sami’s shoulders. “Right, people. Let’s move.”

“Where?” Karen whimpered.

Keeping her in the dark would be fun, but it would be more fun to see her face when she realized. “Presidential Hotel.”

Sure enough, horror filled her eyes and a sob burst out of her mouth. She clapped her hands over her face, but it was too late. The dam burst. She crumpled to her knees. A tear slipped out from behind her hands, rolling down her long, creamy neck.

Dex raised his eyebrows. That wasn’t the behavior of someone who was scared; she actually seemed _sad_. As if she’d looked ahead and realized already that she’d lost.

Well, if that was what it took to snuff out her infuriating attitude. “Come _on_ , people.” He started to push Sami towards the door. Seema followed, trailed by Mockter.

But suddenly, Karen stopped sniffling. Her eyes were still red, but she straightened up, chin lifted. “I need to tell you something, Agent Poindexter.”

Dex paused. “Do you, Karen?”

“Yeah.” She raised her hand, which was holding a phone. “I need you to know that I’m currently sending a voice message to my editor at the  _Bulletin_. So you might wanna think twice about killing us, since now there’s no way you can make it look either legal or like an accident.”

Dex’s neck and face flushed with heat.

“No problem,” Mockter said smoothly. “Holding the FBI accountable is the duty of every citizen. We’re very glad to know your editor wants to be so…involved.”

Karen paled.

De instantly felt better. Squeezing Sami’s shoulder, he walked back towards Karen and held out his hand.

Her icy eyes dropped down, then flitted back up to his face. She didn’t move.

“Karen,” he said lightly. “The phone.”

She gave it up.

Dex pocketed it and withdrew his own phone, quickly calling Hattley. “Yeah, Boss. We got Seema and Sami. And tell Kingpin we got Karen Page, too.”

 

Karen

Dex let the other agent keep ahold of Sami and opted to grip the back of Karen’s neck as he steered her into the Presidential Hotel, where the memories of her last visit crashed into her chest. Fisk’s face contorted with rage, hands twitching to lock around her throat. Last time, she’d had Nadeem. This time?

Well, if she was gonna die, she might as well take some of them down with her if she just got ahold of a gun. That was what she was good for.

Dex and the other agent brought them into an elevator. Karen’s heels pressed against the back wall and the two agents placed themselves in front of the door, facing her and Ray’s family. Karen took slow, measured breaths as the elevator began to rise. There was no reason to think Dex was more likely to murder her in this metal cage than anywhere else. She was fine. But as the elevator rose, Dex never stopped staring at her. Grinning.

Karen didn’t really breathe until the doors slid open and Dex stepped half outside, using his body to hold the doors open while everyone else hurried past him into the open. Then, with the other agent ahead and Dex behind them, Seema, Sami, and Karen had no choice but to file through the metal detectors straight into Fisk’s own suite.

If she had to choose, she’d rather Dex kill her than Fisk.

It was as gorgeous as it had been last time and she saw out of the corner of her eye Seema’s lips part in awe as she took in the high ceiling, the paintings, the elegance. Dex shut the doors behind them and leaned against them, arms folded across his chest. His eyes found Karen’s immediately.

She turned away, turned her back to him like she didn’t care what he did, and made a point of studying a chilling white painting until she heard footsteps on the stairs. She looked.

Fisk.

Seema swept Sami behind her.

Fisk kept his head lowered as he made his way down the stairs, finally stopping right in front of Seema. “Ray’s been worried about you.”

“Don’t say his name,” she growled. “You don’t get to say his name.”

Fisk seemed to accept this. “I’m sorry for how…disruptive…all of this must be.”

Seema didn’t have an answer for that.

“I just wanted to tell you, personally, that this will all be over soon. You’ll be able to go back to the life you lived with…few changes. At least, that’s my ambition.” He gave a small nod, like he’d satisfied some goal of his, and stepped back. “Poindexter, Mockter.”

The agents came in close.

“I’d like a moment with Miss Page alone, thank you.”

Karen didn’t watch as Mockter led Seema and Sami from the room. She didn’t watch as Dex slipped out after them. She kept her eyes on Fisk.

He gestured to the table.

If they were sitting down, that meant he wasn’t murdering her. And she actually felt better with part of the table between them. She sat.

He settled himself into a chair opposite her. “Miss Page.” His voice rumbled. “You’re very brave.”

Karen tried not to listen to her own heart beating wildly. At least Fisk couldn’t hear it. She smoothed her expression into a mask.

“You’re very brave,” he repeated, “to not run when you had the chance.”

“Why would I run?”

His jaw ticked. “After what you told me…about Wesley…”

“I’m not scared of you.”

“I know you wish you weren’t.” He folded his hands on the table. “I’m not going to kill you, Miss Page. Not unless you leave me with no other choice.”

A breathless laugh escaped her lips. “Right, if I die it’s on me. Right.”

“I want to kill you.” His grip on his own hands tightened until his knuckles flashed white. “I would have done so, the second you walked into this room, the second you set foot in this very _hotel_ …” He drew a deep breath. “But Vanessa thought that would be rash.”

It felt like a stupid thing to notice, but Karen was thrown by the way his voice softened around Vanessa’s name. “What did she say?”

“She said you’re intelligent and particularly resilient.” Fisk tilted his head, eyes lowered, aimed at the table. “We know what you did. Back in Vermont. Felix Manning told us. I understand you spoke with him as well.”

It was like he was talking to someone else; his words couldn’t pierce her, couldn’t even stir the memories.

“As much as it…” His forehead creased. “As much as it pains me to acknowledge it, I understand that Wesley’s murder wasn’t…personal. For you.”

“It was _very_ personal,” she hissed.

“No.” He raised his eyes to hers; she noted furiously that they were sorrowful. “You did what you had to, just like you did what you had to in Fagan Corners. Resilience. It’s a…respectable characteristic.”

She stiffened.

“You’ve gotten in my way more than once, Karen, and I know the resulting attempts on your life have left their mark. But if you hadn’t put yourself in the position of being my target, would you even oppose me? All I wanted was to make this city—”

“Save it,” she spat. “I would’ve tried to stop you for all the lying and corruption by itself, that would’ve been enough even _without_ the murders. Daniel Fisher. Elena Cardenas. _Anyone_ who got in your way.”

He looked disappointed, but not surprised. “I understand. Thank you for being honest; it saves time.” He leaned forward. “In that case, let’s talk about your current position. You have a lot of leverage, Karen.”

She raised her eyebrows. “What leverage?”

“The things you know, the things you’ll discover if given the chance…we both know how dangerous you are to me. To what I’m trying to do.”

“That doesn’t justify you killing me, in case you were wondering.”

“No, but it does limit my options. I can’t let you walk free. But if you want to preserve your life, there might be something _you_ can do.”

“You know,” she said coldly, “Wesley tried that.”

Fisk’s entire body went rigid at the mention of the name. “Tried what?”

“Tried to manipulate me into working for him. For you, actually.” She licked her lips. “Obviously, he didn’t succeed.”

“What did he offer?”

“He threatened.”

Fisk nodded slowly. “I’m prepared to do that, and more.”

“Really.” She propped her chin in her hands. “And who, exactly, are you gonna threaten? Foggy? He’s already under your crosshairs and we all know it. Matt? Don’t make me laugh.” And it wasn’t like she had anyone else in Hell’s Kitchen, unless he went after Ellison, but even Fisk would have a hard time covering up the murder of the editor of the _Bulletin_ without raising suspicion.

“Do you really think my arm is so short, Karen?”

Wait.

“Do you think I couldn’t have people in Fagan Corners by tonight, if I wanted?”

No. No, no.

“Do you think it would be hard to make it look like an accident?”

“You stay _away_ from him!”

Fisk sat back in his chair. “Give me a reason to.”


	26. Chapter 26

Foggy

Ripping off his cheap mask, Foggy gasped for air. The FBI showed up. The _freaking_ FBI. It was one thing when Nadeem was sniffing around Nelson’s Meats, but this was… _agents_ , with _guns_. Shooting at _Matt_. and they _would’ve_ shot Foggy if he hadn’t scrammed outta there like…like someone who had no business being in a firefight or anywhere near one.

His heartrate was still about a hundred and fifty percent too fast. He took a moment to appreciate the fact that Matt wasn’t around to spy on his cardiovascular activities. With any luck, he’d calm down before he got to the church.

The church. Where his mom was. Where Matt definitely would not have gone unless he was literally on the verge of death.  But of course he couldn’t just _tell_ Foggy how close to death he actually was, no, which left Foggy to assume the absolute worst.

At least the gripping fear was a distraction from how tired and hungry he was and how his feet really did hurt.

Only after her showed up at Matt’s church and the nun who opened the door for him let out a startled squeak did Foggy realize how insane he probably looked. A dress suit paired with a hoodie, panic written across his face, probably cobwebs somewhere from that stupid basement.

“I’m not insane,” he blurted out.

“Of course not,” she said, probably automatically. She did not step aside to let him in.

“I need to see…um.” He didn’t know Matt’s mom’s name and he couldn’t very well ask to see Daredevil. “If…if someone came here who was hurt, where would he go?”

The nun arched an eyebrow. “To the hospital?”

Ha, he _wished_. “Look, can you just—”

“Mr. Nelson?” A new voice interrupted. A second nun appeared behind the first: significantly smaller, with her shawl thing (what was it called?) pulled back to reveal dark auburn hair.

Foggy’s stomach flipped. He could be jumping to conclusions here, but he was pretty sure he was meeting Matt’s mom.

Her eyes narrowed pointedly. “Mr. Nelson?”

“Oh, uh,” he stammered. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“You’re needed downstairs.” She placed her hand lightly on the other nun’s arm. “I’ll handle this, Anna.”

Looking relieved, the other nun hurried away, leaving Foggy to follow the new nun.

“He heard you,” she commented conversationally as she led him through the church. “I’m Maggie, by the way.”

So, what, she knew about his superpowers? Made sense, Foggy supposed, if she had to bring him back from the dead after Midland Circle. “Franklin Nelson,” Foggy introduced himself, barely resisting the urge to add “esquire” at the end to create more distance between them; the thought of this nun calling him Foggy made him feel like he’d swallowed a wasp nest. (Yeah, he’d been happy that Matt had this hint of happiness back when she was an abstract concept, but now he was staring in the face of the woman who’d so badly hurt his best friend and…happiness was so far from what Foggy was feeling he couldn’t find it with a GPS.) “Is he okay?”

Her only answer was a longsuffering sigh.

They headed down some narrow, dark stairs that kind of felt like the belonged in a haunted house. But if the stairs were bad, Matt was worse. He was there in the basement, lying on a flimsy cot, curled on his side and deathly pale. His black shirt was suspiciously wet around his left shoulder, and there was a hole in the fabric. Foggy could tell because the white bandage underneath it was startlingly white in contrast.

“Hey, Fogs,” Matt murmured, so hushed Foggy could barely hear it. He didn’t open his eyes.

Foggy put the pieces together with an exhale: “You got shot. You got _shot_.”

Matt tucked his hand under his cheek and groaned at the slight movement. “But did I die?”

Foggy swore (under his breath; the nun was right at his elbow, staring up at him) and edged closer. “Who did this?”

“I dunno…FBI…not Nadeem.” He sounded even more exhausted than Foggy felt. “Does it matter?”

Foggy fumbled for a response and settled on a new question. “What happened to Hammer?”

Eyes still closed, Matt bit his lip. “Dead. FBI wants all the criminals on Fisk’s list to know their options. Buy in with Fisk, or…”

“Yikes,” Foggy muttered. Understatement, but Maggie was still staring at him (it was getting unnerving) and he didn’t want to get thrown out for cursing.

“So, yeah.” Matt pressed his head deeper into the pillow. “I’m thinking we should be more aggressive with the next ones, maybe—”

“Next ones?” Foggy spluttered. “But you’re—you’re—” Curled up like a kicked puppy. “And, wait, _more_ aggressive?”

Matt’s eyes slowly opened. “Foggy, I have to make an impression that’s…big enough to weigh against Fisk’s threat.”

Foggy didn’t want to think about what that might mean. “I’m going back to my first objection, which is that _you’re_ not going anywhere. You have a _hole_ in your actual flesh.”

The corner of his mouth turned upwards. “Nowhere important.”

Insufferable.

Maggie apparently agreed. “Matthew,” she chided gently.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “I’m f—”

“You’re not fine,” Foggy and Maggie said at the exact same time. ( _Thanks,_ Foggy thought. _I hate it._ )

Matt brought his knees up a little, shaping himself into even more of a ball. “Really, I just need a couple minutes. And…maybe some more aspirin.”

Maggie whisked herself off to some other part of the basement, returning seconds later with a glass of water in one hand and two pills in the other. She only hesitated a little before kneeling by the bed. Matt somehow managed to swallow the pills without sitting up, which was a very impressive use of ninja training.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

It made Foggy’s stomach curdle. “So,” he said, nervous and starting to get a little bit angry at the same time in anticipation of what he was about to say. “Can we address the elephant in the room?”

Maggie looked confused, but Matt obviously knew what Foggy was talking about. “No,” he growled.

Was he _defending_ her? Really? “I mean, I just have some questions.” And now Foggy’s anger was definitely apparent not just in his heart or breathing or whatever but in his voice.

Matt sat up, even though a wince ghosted across his face and he held himself uncomfortably once upright. “Foggy. Stop.”

Maggie had tensed, eyes flicking between them like she knew what they were talking about now, but she was keeping very much out of it. Letting her son fight her battles even though she’d never fought his.

Foggy couldn’t stand to look at her, and he didn’t want to look at Matt, so he just glared at one of the stupid angel statues. She was his _mother_ , the one person who should _never_ have left him. Was Matt really just gonna let her waltz back into his life like she hadn’t abandoned him for years? No, wait, because taking care of him at arm’s length when he was a kid _without telling him_ (and wasn’t that exactly when his stupid ninja mentor got to him, the one that made him think he should punch all his problems away instead of doing what his dad said and, y’know, _not_ doing that) (not that Foggy wasn’t glad Matt knew how to punch people to save other people, but—) (how much of Matt’s I-don’t-need-friends-or-hospitals thing was from his freaky mentor?) (and Maggie could’ve stopped it, but even _that_ wasn’t the _point_ )—

Foggy took a deep breath. He wasn’t making sense in his own head. What Maggie did to Matt was _worse_ than abandonment, that was all Foggy was saying.

Or was about to be saying, because Matt sure didn’t seem like he was gonna start saying it himself, and _someone_ really needed to.

Keeping his eyes on one of the stupid angels, Foggy cleared his throat. “Listen, Maggie, Sister, I just wanna know. If Matt hadn’t heard you, were you ever gonna tell him who you are or were you just gonna keep him in the dark forever?”

Matt shot to his feet. Normally that kind of thing would be noiseless, but today it came with a pained grunt, which made Foggy whirl around in time to see his best friend turn gray. “That’s none—” He broke off with a choked sound and fell back onto the bed, gritting his teeth. The pristine white under his shirt had a new pinkish undertone. “That’s none of your business.”

“The hell it’s not my business! You’re my _best friend_.” But that was always Matt’s problem; he always thought all his problems were none of Foggy’s business and that _hurt_.

“Could you—would you j-just back off?”

Oh, no. Matt’s stutter was kicking in. A sure sign that Foggy should, probably, actually, back off. But he was tired and he was not ready for Matt’s heart to get torn up even more by this nun just because he couldn’t see her for what she was (ha, _ha_ ) and then Foggy was gonna have to pick up the pieces—assuming there were any pieces left and assuming Matt _stuck around_ long enough for Foggy to do anything with all those pieces. So everything rushed out before he could think twice. “No, Matt, I will not back off! I’m glad she bothered to take care of your _bullet hole_ tonight, but I think she owes you a straight answer about—”

“I don’t care what you think!” Matt shouted.

Foggy froze.

Maggie froze.

Matt’s hands were two tight fists pushed against the cot. “F-Foggy. You keep—you keep doing this, like—like you think you’re the only one who can, I don’t know, _save me from myself_ ,” he spat the words, “but I’m—”

If he was about to say _fine_ , Foggy might accidentally punch him.

“I can take care of myself,” he amended quickly. “And not—and not just with her.” His head jerked briefly towards Maggie. “Following me around tonight, and even—even before Midland Circle, trying to get me to stop being Daredevil even though I _can’t_ stop, and—” His eyes flashed. “I don’t want to.”

Foggy opened his mouth to fire back, but his sluggish brain finally caught up to things. There was none of Matt’s usual eloquence: yet another indication that he was being nakedly, painfully honest. So Foggy snapped his mouth closed, working through Matt’s words until his eyebrows raised in guilty bewilderment.

Matt felt smothered. Foggy’s worry for him was making him feel smothered.

Which was…kind of sad, given the fact that Matt’s worry for Foggy tended to result in Foggy feeling isolated, because Matt dealt with worry by keeping everything secret. Foggy, personally, would much rather feel smothered.

But Matt had always been more like Karen in that regard.

Matt held very still now, head cocked, breathing shallowly. Like he already knew that whatever Foggy had to say in response to his outburst wasn’t gonna be good.

Foggy felt sick. The words weren’t tumbling out anymore; instead, it took all the determination he had left to dredge up just two of them: “I’m sorry.”

Whatever Matt was expecting, it wasn’t that. His eyes widened, but he stayed exactly as tense. Still waiting.

“You’re right. I’ve been…I’ve been too pushy. A bona fide mother hen.”

Matt’s eyebrows pinched together like he was maybe a bit thrown by the mother hen part.

“Feathers and all,” Foggy insisted. “And I’m really sorry. I’m your friend, not your—” Not his mother, which was a loaded concept, and it seemed that Foggy wasn’t going there tonight after all. “I just…can I tell you why?”

Impossibly, Matt suddenly looked _more_ tense. When he spoke, the words barely had room to squeeze out between his teeth. “I know you don’t trust me.”

“Wh—what?”

Matt slumped over himself, head drooping. His right hand gestured vaguely. “I’ve never earned it back, huh?”

“Who said that?” Foggy exclaimed. “Did _I_ say that?” He couldn’t remember that conversation, but Matt sounded so sure. Foggy was gonna _murder_ his past self.

But Matt just shrugged, like the fact was obvious enough that it spoke for itself.

“I never said that,” Foggy realized aloud, relieved. “Matt, I _never_ said that.”

“But…you think it.”

“What? No! I don’t—” Foggy found himself looking at Maggie, stupid _Maggie_ , for help. She didn’t move, but her brown eyes were sad. Steeling himself, Foggy went over to the bed. When Matt didn’t react, he sat down beside him. When Matt _still_ didn’t react, he wrapped his fingers around Matt’s arm (Matt hissed in pain; it was his bad arm; whoops; Foggy dropped the arm to put his hand awkwardly on Matt’s thigh). “Listen. Of _course_ I trust you.”

Matt’s head tilted towards Foggy enough that Foggy could see his frown.

“Buddy? Are you listening?”

Matt shot him a look that might vaguely be interpreted to mean _duh_.

“I mean…” Foggy reached for Matt’s right hand and brought it across, pressing it flat to his chest. “ _Listen_.”

Matt’s lips parted.

“I trust you,” Foggy said slowly, clearly. “I trust you to always put other people first, even if it kills you. And I trust you to be a thousand times smarter than me. I trust you to know what you believe in and stick to it, no matter what.” The corners of Matt’s eyes crinkled with the smallest imaginable wince at that, but Foggy pressed on. “I trust you to be, deep down where it matters most, _good_. And—and—” Foggy swallowed. “And I’m sorry for every time I’ve made you feel like that’s not how I think of you.”

Matt’s hand was still trapped against Foggy’s chest and it was hard to tell in the dark, but it looked like his eyes were moist. Probably just because his gunshot wound flared up when Foggy tugged on his arm like an idiot.

“I just…” Foggy ran out of things to say. He needed to sleep for ten hours. “Yeah.”

Matt cleared his throat and his fingers twitched under Foggy’s hand.

“Oh, sorry.” Foggy let go.

There was no dramatic hug, no fervent words of reconciliation. But Matt’s hand lifted, bloodless fingers skating across Foggy’s forehead and down the side of his face before the hand was withdrawn again.

Which was, for now, enough for Foggy to think that maybe he’d been forgiven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you also reading my "Ella" series, I apologize for the thematic overlap here! I guess I just think pretty much all Matts and Foggys should have some variant of this conversation?


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another cliffhanger I'm so sorry I love you all it's gonna be okay

Karen

“Think about it,” Fisk said quietly, eyes sliding away from her to stare at the wall like none if it mattered to him at all.

Karen trembled with fury. Her dad was worthless and selfish and stupid for trying to keep them all trapped there in Fagan Corners, but he didn’t deserve whatever Fisk would do to him.

Fisk glanced up, up into the corner where the red eye of a camera blinked at them. “Dex?”

Less than a minute later, the door to the suite opened. Dex stepped inside, chin high.

“Please escort Miss Page to join the Nadeems.”

“Yessir.” Dex fell into place behind Karen. When she refused to so much as flinch, he gave her a little push at the small of her back. “Move.”

Fear of Dex withered in comparison to her anger at Fisk. Karen’s mind raced as she marched out of the room. She couldn’t get to her phone to call her dad. What, then? Send a post card?

“Ya know,” Dex said casually, “it’s easier to just go with it.”

She ignored him, still trying to solve an impossible problem. There had to be some FBI agents Fisk hadn’t gotten to yet, right? Maybe they could help. If she could figure out who they were.

“I mean, it’s not so big of a difference,” Dex went on like she was supposed to know what he was talking about.

“What?” she snapped, stopping to stare at him in one of the ridiculously fancy hallways.

He blinked at her, wide-eyed, like a little kid wearing innocence as a mask. “Working for Fisk. It’s just like working for anyone else.”

Her lip curled. “Well, I’m kind of my own boss now.”

His head tipped to the side. “Thought you were a reporter? I read some of your stuff when I was figuring out how to be Daredevil. Your stories—”

“You’re not Daredevil.”

He ignored that. “Your stories were good. Facts, yeah, but anyone can get facts. You talked about, y’know, the stuff underneath.”

She stared at him. “Not anymore, after what you did.” She started walking again, not caring if she was going in the right direction.

He caught up. “Sorry. That must be hard, that must be really—”

“No, shut up.” She whirled around to face him. “You know what’s hard, Dex? What’s hard is standing in the middle of the _Bulletin_ watching you rip my coworkers to shreds. What’s hard is knowing you’re helping Fisk protect murderers and traffickers and twist the FBI into his own personal police force. What’s hard is is—is knowing I couldn’t keep the family of the _one_ decent member of the FBI safe from you and your—your—” She balled her hands into fists. “You. Just you.”

For a second, Dex just stared at her. Then he rolled his eyes. “You’re not gonna guilt me into switching sides, you know.”

“Not interested,” she said scathingly.

His eyes lit up. “Really? You’re not?”

No idea what he was talking about, Karen turned around again. “Where’re we going?”

“This way.” He brushed past her, taking the lead as they turned down yet another hallway and finally stopping outside a door that looked like any other hotel room but for the two FBI agents standing guard outside. One of them averted her eyes as Karen stepped past her into the room.

There were two beds. Seema sat cross-legged on one, above the covers, stroking Sami’s hair. He was snuggled down under the blankets, but his sleep was restless.

Dex flashed Karen a smile she couldn’t interpret and closed the door. Which, given the cameras blinking in the corners of the ceiling, was a pretty worthless gesture. Karen kind of hated her body for relaxing slightly. Then again, the tension spread throughout her neck, shoulders, and chest was killing her.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

Seema kept her eyes on Sami. “What do you have to be sorry about?”

Karen pressed her lips together. “Not getting to you sooner? Letting Dex get to you?”

Seema looked up with a quiet scoff. “You sound like Ray. Like it’s all on you to stop the evil from happening.”

Karen folded her arms across her chest a little defensively. “Trust me, I know my limits. I have a friend like that, though.”

“Daredevil?” Seema asked knowingly.

“He always thinks only he can beat the bad guys, only he knows the risks, only he can prevent forest fires.”

Seema’s hushed laugh was tinged with sadness. “The pride of men, I think.”

Karen didn’t usually think of it as pride, more like sheer stupidity, but all right, Seema wasn’t _wrong_. “We’ll be fine, though, especially if I can get a gun.”

“A gun?” Seema visibly tensed.

“I already shot at other agents,” she said flippantly.

Seema’s eyes flew wide. “You killed them?”

“No, but…” But she could’ve. She would’ve lost sleep over it, afterwards, but…she could’ve.

Fisk’s voice echoed in her head, a memory of the nightmares that haunted her after Wesley’s death. _It gets easier, the more you kill._

Except it wasn’t actually Fisk saying that, was it? It was her own subconscious, which knew her best.

She wasn’t like Matt or Foggy; she’d already crossed that line. Her hands were already stained with blood. Which meant she was the only one of them that could—that _should_ —do what…what had to be done.

Shoving those thoughts from her head, Karen sat on the second bed. “So for now, you doing okay?”

Seema pursed her lips.

“Yeah, stupid question.” Karen brought her knees up to her chest. “Did anyone talk to you while I wasn’t here?”

She shook her head.

“Good. Maybe Fisk doesn’t care about you two except as insurance against Ray.”

“Ray,” Seema murmured. “Do you think he knows we’re here?”

“Depends,” Karen said thoughtfully, “on if Fisk thinks telling Ray would set him off or make him fall in line. You know him. What do you think?”

“I don’t know anymore,” Seema said, slightly bitter. “Ever since his stupid promotion—” Cutting herself off, she glanced quickly at Sami’s sleeping form, then looked guiltily across at Karen. “He didn’t tell me about any of this. He _lied_ to me.” Her eyes dropped down to the floor. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“Because it hurts,” Karen said softly.

For a long time, Seema didn't respond. A tear escaped her dark lashes, rolling slowly down her cheek.

“But, hey, listen.” Karen didn’t move to the other bed, not wanting to disturb Sami, but she scooted to the very edge of hers and leaned towards Seema. “He lied, and he shouldn’t have done that. But you still know who he is, deep down. You know he still cares about you, and wants to protect you, and wants to do the right thing and all that. He’s still the same guy. He’s still…” She swallowed. “Ray.”

 

 

Ray

At least they didn’t kill Hammer’s other men. The miscellaneous criminals were taken away before they even regained consciousness, leaving Ray and Ramsey to stay behind and secure the crime scene until Hammer’s body was picked up. Well…it was possible that the other criminals _would_ end up dead. But at least Ray wouldn’t have to witness it. Or be directly responsible.

Closing his eyes, he gritted his teeth. What kind of person had he become that he actually found relief in that?

Ramsey, who’d disappeared to take a phone call, returned to stand beside him. “How ya feeling?”

“Fine,” Ray said stiffly. “I barely got hit.” Although Matt sure knew how to make the blow he landed count.

“You sure?” Ramsey leaned in closer, lowered his voice. “I heard you got shot not too long ago.”

Ray stared at him. Who told him? Dex? And did Dex tell him _why_ Ray got shot? “Part of the job, I guess,” Ray managed to say, shooting for casual and missing by a mile. “Especially now, with…Kingpin.”

At first, Ramsey just nodded quietly. His eyes moved to watch the last of the other agents file out of Hammer’s garage. Then the garage door began to close, matching a sinking feeling in Ray’s gut. Ramsey turned back to him. “Look, Ray. You’re a good guy. Lots of integrity, a family man. We all respect you.” He dropped a heavy hand on Ray’s shoulder. it didn’t feel comforting. “But I just got a call. See, your family’s been taken to the Presidential Hotel—”

“ _Why?_ ” Ray blurted out, shoving his hand away.

Ramsey raised both hands innocently. “For their protection. Obviously. Except when Dex showed up to get them—”

Dex, of _course_ it was Dex.

“—someone else was already there.”

Wetting his lips, Ray set his hands on his hips, near his weapon.

Ramsey mirrored him. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “How long’ve you been working with Karen Page, Ray?”

Ray’s fingers brushed the grip of his gun. “Listen,” he whispered, “we can work through this. Who’s he got on you? Who’s the Kingpin got on you?”

Raising his eyebrows, Ramsey calmly drew his own firearm. “No one.”


	28. Chapter 28

Foggy

There wasn’t really time to take a break, not if Fisk and the FBI were gonna start killing everyone who refused to join his little mafia. There was still a whole list of people Matt needed to get to.

But. Matt had fallen asleep. And it really seemed like he needed it, in more ways than one.

“See,” Foggy said softly, sitting on the edge of the cot and looking down at him, “this is why I’m not you.” Given the choice, he’d always put his best friend ahead of Hell’s Kitchen.

He heard quiet footsteps descending the stairs. Maggie, holding two steaming mugs. “You should sleep too, you know.”

Foggy accepted one of the mugs. Tea, not coffee. No caffeine. “Yeah.”

Retreating to the opposite side of the room, she watched him carefully. “Why don’t you?”

“It’s not just us. We’ve got friends out there. If they need help, I need to pick up their call or something.” He glanced back at Matt. “And…I’m kinda scared that if I fall asleep, he’ll disappear on me.”

He should not have said that out loud. _Why_ did he say that out loud?

She sipped her own tea. “I wouldn’t worry so much.”

What gave her the right to give him advice about Matt?

“He brought you here, didn’t he?” she pointed out.

Well, that was…a good point. Still. Foggy was trying to figure out what to say in response when his phone started ringing. Brett.

Unsure if he expected good news or terrible news, Foggy held the phone tentatively to his ear. “Buddy?”

Brett’s voice was sharp. “Look, Foggy, that family you told me about? When are they supposed to get here?”

Ice dropped into Foggy’s stomach. “They should be there by now.”

“Well, they ain’t.”

“Okay,” Foggy said shallowly. “Okay. One sec.” He hung up, heart pounding, fingers shaking enough that it took longer than it should’ve to call Karen.

His fear tightened into icy certainty when a man’s voice answered. “Karen Page’s phone.”

“Who are you? Where’s Karen?” he demanded.

“In the bathroom at the moment,” the voice responded calmly. “I can take a message.”

Foggy gripped the phone harder, staring into Maggie’s worried eyes. “I need to talk to her now.”

A pause. “You want me to interrupt her in the bathroom?”

Whirling around, Foggy prodded Matt, who snapped awake immediately with a pained moan. Foggy jabbed the speaker button. “Who are you?” he repeated.

“Who are _you_?” the voice countered.

Matt’s teeth bared, which really told Foggy everything he needed to know. “Where is she?” Foggy growled.

_Click._

“Poindexter,” Matt spat, lunging to his feet and swaying slightly. “He’s got Karen.” Swearing, he grabbed his burner and punched in a number. “Nadeem?” he asked a second later.

Foggy didn’t need super senses to know Nadeem wasn’t answering. The icy feeling in his stomach turned sick. “Matt…”

Matt hurled the burner across the room and sucked in a breath as the movement tugged at his bullet wound. Maggie flinched.

Foggy blanched. “Matt, geeze, calm down.”

Matt started pacing. “Fogs, he’s got—he’s got _Karen_ , Fogs—”

“I know,” Foggy said evenly.

“We sent her straight into an ambush! And we weren’t there for her, Foggy! Just like—” He punched at the wall and screwed up his face, either from his fist hitting stone or from the bullet wound. Hard to tell at this point. “Just like with _Wesley_ —”

Not just like Wesley, but Matt clearly wasn’t in the mood to be proven wrong right now. “We’ll get her back.”

“The hotel’s a fortress crawling with FBI! I’ve gotta—” He shook out his hand and pushed it through his hair. “I can probably get in, but I can’t control the all the agents and Fisk might just—” He squeezed his eyes shut.

Might just shoot Karen or Seema or Sami to slow Matt down or might not bother to protect them from the crossfire, which would come to the same thing.

Foggy watched him pace, each movement progressively more agitated, and the realization dawned that if he couldn’t get Matt to stop and _think_ , the vigilante would burst into the epicenter of Fisk’s web and set everyone off and Foggy would almost certainly lose both Matt and Karen.

Foggy thought faster than he ever had in his life. They needed help, lots of help, with both physical and political power to—not _match_ the FBI, but at least hold them at bay. And he needed Matt to snap out of his panic long enough to agree.

“You know,” Foggy said loudly, “Karen will be really offended when I tell her about this conversation.”

Matt’s harried footsteps stuttered. Even in the darkened basement, the pinkish bandage under his shirt now looked suspiciously red. And wet. “What?”

Foggy reached surreptitiously for another bandage, figuring redoing the stitches would be worthless for the immediate future. “I’m not saying she can handle this solo. _None_ of us can. But she’s not some distressed damsel, Matt, and I think she’d find it kinda insulting that you’re treating her like one.”

Matt gaped at him. “It’d be the same if Fisk had you.”

“Yeah, but I’d be less offended because I, unlike both you and Karen, accept the limits of my feeble humanity.”

Matt gave his head a sharp shake. “We have to do something. _I_ have to do something.”

“ _We_ should do something, yes, I totally agree.” Foggy took a slow step closer, telegraphing his movements, like he’d approach a scared, angry cat. “And I agree that you’ll be a lot more effective if we can get you in there without throwing the FBI into attack mode. So I think we need backup.”

Now Matt was staring towards Foggy like “backup” was a foreign word.

“Fisk is still guilty of state crimes, especially if he’s associating with the other crime lords,” Foggy insisted. “We need Brett.”

Matt laughed, and Foggy would probably get angry except that Matt’s laugh was so despairing. “Brett can’t stop this Foggy, he’s just—”

“Our direct connection to the NYPD? My thoughts exactly.”

 

Ray

Ray was no stranger to adrenaline. The way the world slowed down when you were in danger. He dropped beneath Ramsey’s line of fire, drew his own gun, and fired at center mass. Glass shattered behind Ray as Ramsey’s gun went off, but the other agent dropped with a wail, blood blooming across his chest.

Stumbling backwards, Ray lowered his gun in a shaking hand but didn’t dare holster it, barely able to hear Ramsey’s gurgling gasps for breath over the sound of his own thundering heart. By the time he made it to the garage door, he was the only person left alive in the building. He fumbled to get the door open as saliva pooled over his tongue. He was still alive, but the relief was sour.

This wasn’t the first time he’d shot someone. It wasn’t the first time he’d killed someone. But it was the first time he’d killed someone he knew. He swallowed twice and stopped moving, dizzy. Presidential Hotel, he had to get to the Presidential Hotel. He had to get to his family. Fisk had his family.

He made it about three steps in the general direction of the hotel before he doubled over to throw up. Spitting, he straightened back up, and adjusted his jacket with unsteady hands. His finger brushed against the wire snaking under his shirt.

He froze, ice-cold washing over him. It was on camera, all on camera. His empty stomach flipped. His brain raced in different directions as he tried to figure out what to do immediately (get to his family, but how?) and what this would mean for the rest of his life (trial, and who would be on his side after everything he let happen?) and he ended up just moving on autopilot towards the hotel.

Wait. He stopped and pulled out his phone. Because there was a body back there. Because Ray needed to look innocent, starting now.

“ _9-1-1, what is your emergency?_ ”

 

Foggy

The sun was rising slowly, at odds with the way the precinct buzzed restlessly when they get there about an hour later. An hour, because they went straight to Bess Mahoney’s place first, instead of calling to make sure Brett was still there, which he wasn’t, because apparently something else had gone wrong in Hell’s Kitchen and Brett had been called in. Bess Mahoney had tried to force them to drink tea, especially Matt who looked creepily pallid, and Foggy had _almost_ gotten to see Matt snap at an elder, which would’ve been hilarious in any other circumstance. But Foggy had stepped in to be rude enough for both of them, all but pulling Matt away and throwing a measly apology over his shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Matt asked in a low, tense voice as they waited at the front desk. It made Foggy flash back to visiting the hospital to see Frank Castle, to Matt’s quiet voice asking Foggy to explain all the reporters, to Foggy being reminded yet again that just because the vigilante was a ninja didn’t mean his best friend wasn’t still blind. (It _hadn’t_ been a lie, not all of it.)

“Dunno, man.” Foggy raised up on his toes, trying to make the most out of sight. “They’re bringing someone in.”

There, in the back, officers swarming around the perp, forcing his head down. Seemed like a pretty big kerfuffle just for one criminal. And Ray hadn’t answered his phone, so maybe…maybe….

Matt leaned past Foggy, head tilted, brow furrowed in that distinct way that always meant he was opting to beat himself up instead of letting someone else do it for him.

“What is it?” Foggy whispered.

Matt swallowed. “His name’s Melvin.”

That meant absolutely nothing to Foggy. “So…?”

“He made my suit. He also worked for Fisk. Made the suit Poindexter used.”

Oh. Yikes. And Matt could really use a new suit right now, too. Still didn’t explain why Matt looked like he was somehow personally responsible, but before Foggy could ask, Matt’s head cocked again and he swiftly, deliberately relaxed his stance.

Looking over Matt’s shoulder, Foggy realized why. Brett was advancing on them—fast. “Murdock!”

Matt fiddled restlessly with the strap of his cane. Maggie had gifted him a new shirt—blood-red—which he wore under the torn black one, but he also wore an oversized green jacket that covered the hole in the black, as well as equally oversized black sunglasses. He looked homeless. “Detective.”

“You know there’s a missing persons case out on you?”

“Really?” Matt asked ironically.

Brett scowled. “So I’m gonna go ahead and close that case.”

“Good thinking.”

Okay, okay. Foggy stepped between them before Matt got himself punched in the face. “Brett, buddy, we need your help.”

“When don’t you, Counselors? And what happened to that family?”

“Fisk got there first.”

The hard creases in Brett’s forehead deepened. “I can send a detail to the house, start an investigation. _But_ ,” he added sharply, glancing weirdly at Matt, “I can’t charge into the Presidential Hotel on nothing but your word. Whatever Fisk is doing in there is out of our hands and Tower won’t prosecute no matter what we—”

“Not true,” Matt cut in. “Foggy figured out what Fisk is doing, and he’s got the Bulletin ready to print the story, so Tower will have no choice but to take it seriously.”

Brett’s eyes widened as he turned to Foggy, who was currently melting inside at the pride underlying the steely edge to Matt’s voice. “And what is it Fisk’s doing?”

“Selling his protection to other crime lords,” Foggy said promptly, “which makes Fisk guilty of conspiracy for their crimes.”

Brett lowered his voice. “And you can prove that?”

Since Foggy had _been there_ when Zyl called Brett to explain the situation, he knew they shouldn’t have to. He shot a look at Matt, who flexed his jaw.

Brett raised his eyebrows.

Well, Foggy wasn’t above begging. “C’mon,” he cajoled. “You _know_ who Fisk is. _What_ Fisk is. Don’t tell me you’re not on our side here. You _have_ to get into the hotel. It’s…it’s not just the family, Brett. Fisk got to Karen, too.”

Brett looked upset, but not surprised. Well, he of all people was aware of how much danger Karen could find herself in.

“And that family,” Foggy went on desperately, “they’ve got no one else to help them.”

“Something tells me that’s not true.” Brett took a step closer, dropping his voice to a whisper as his eyes darted past them for a second. The precinct was still filled with activity, but no one was paying the three of them any attention. “I’m on your side. But if I’m gonna go up in flames, I wanna know who I’m going up in flames with.”

“It’s us,” Foggy said uneasily.

To Foggy’s surprise, Brett set his gaze on Matt. “Murdock?”

“Detective?” Matt asked innocently.

“I got another call not long before you two showed up,” Brett said slowly. “FBI agent. Husband of that family you’re so worried about.”

“He’s all right?” Foggy blurted out.

“Depends. He called to say another agent was dead. And he admitted he was the one who did it.”

What? Ray shouldn’t have admitted that, not to a _cop_. What was he _thinking?_

“Normally,” Brett went on, “I’d already have him brought in. But with everything else I know, I thought maybe he had a good reason. You know. To break the law.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Foggy asked, a bit nervous about the intensity of Brett’s unwavering stare.

“Because the NYPD can’t break the seal of the Presidential Hotel and impede FBI operations unless there’s some kind of exigency,” Brett said, still watching Matt through narrowed eyes. “And as I’m sure you know, Counselor, we aren’t exactly allowed to create that exigency ourselves.”

Oh.

Wait, what?

“Brett…” Foggy said suspiciously.

Brett folded his arms across his chest. “So I thought—and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but—I thought Nelson and Murdock might be able to reach out to that friend of yours. The masked one. The _real_ masked one.”

“You believe the other Daredevil’s a fake?” Foggy breathed out.

“The real Daredevil’s knocked me around enough,” Brett said flatly. “I know the difference.”

Matt pinched his lips together at the significant way Brett said that, but he couldn’t quite hide the way the corner of his mouth twitched upwards ever so slightly. “All right, Brett. I’ll get your exigency.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, guys, I'm really excited for where this is going and I can only hope it lives up to what's in my head!


	29. Chapter 29

Matt

There were only so many things a person could have a crisis about at the same time. Matt wasn’t sure whether his own tolerance was particularly high or low, but he was very sure that he couldn’t afford to freak out about the fact that Brett knew his identity. Not right now, anyway.

What exactly gave it away, how long Brett had known, how many people Brett had told, what Brett was planning on doing with that information—those were all questions Matt shoved resolutely to the back of his mind. Not that the back of his mind was so reliable these days. Matt was well aware by now that his anxious thoughts wouldn’t stay tucked away unless he was moving, _doing_ something.

Hence pacing back and forth nonstop in the interrogation room Brett had commandeered for them. Matt ignored the annoyed and worried looks Foggy was undoubtedly sending his way. The thing was, Brett was a detective. He wanted a plan. He wanted backup plans. He wanted to go over all the plans multiple times. Matt had always considered himself more of a jump-first-think-later person, but this was…what difference was any of this gonna make if Dex had a _gun_ to Karen’s head?

They _had_ a plan: send Matt into the Presidential Hotel to cause chaos, and have the full force of the NYPD come sweeping in after him—ostensibly to stop Daredevil, in fact to stop Fisk.

But Brett kept stalling. “I just wanna clarify whether we really want Foggy to make the 9-1-1 call,” he was saying. He kept worrying that getting Foggy on record via 9-1-1 transcript would tie Foggy to closely to Daredevil’s activities. Nice of him to care, but Matt couldn’t believe they were rehashing such an attenuated possibility _again_ when Karen could be _dying_ right now.

Fisk knew what she did to Wesley. She’d been right to think she should run.

It was his fault she’d stayed.

This was all his fault, this was what happened when he tried to be part of a _team_ , this was—

“Matt,” Foggy snapped.

Matt skidded to a stop. “ _What?_ ”

“I’m gonna throw up watching you.” Foggy’s voice was artificially light. Trying to spare Matt the embarrassment of letting Brett see exactly how worried he was about Matt’s mental health, probably. Especially since they really, really needed Brett to have zero doubts about Daredevil’s competence right now.

Matt tried to sound calm and in control. “Sorry, but we’re wasting time. I should’ve left five minutes ago, we need to—”

“Wait five more minutes before Ray gets here,” Foggy cut in, some of that worry leaking through. “We went through this.”

Brett’s chair creaked where he sat on the other side of the table. “Were you listening?”

“Yeah,” Matt lied. “Sorry.”

It was quiet for a moment, probably because Brett was squinting at him suspiciously. Then Brett sighed loudly. “Look, I need to show my face out there long enough that people don’t start wondering what I’ve been up to, and I’ll grab Special Agent Nadeem once he gets in. Think you two can keep from doing anything stupid if I leave you here?”

“We’ll behave,” Foggy said solemnly.

“You’re not the one I’m worried about,” Brett muttered, but he strode out of the interrogation room anyway, letting the heavy door slam shut behind him.

Matt immediately went back to pacing, and Foggy immediately turned on him. “Would you cut it out? Karen can take care of—”

“What about Seema and Sami?” Matt shot back. “Who’s taking care of them?”

“Karen, probably. She’s probably figuring out how to run the whole hotel from the inside, Matt, c’mon.”

Matt stopped again, horrified by what sounded like a joke and too shocked to even figure out how to tell Foggy that joking like that was completely inappropriate, which Foggy should obviously _know_. But by the time his sleep-deprived brain settled on a response, his brain also dredged up the idea that Foggy had said something so flippant on purpose just to get Matt to stop pacing.

Which, infuriatingly, worked.

Swearing under his breath, Matt set his hands on his hips and clenched his jaw. “I should’ve been there.”

“Excuse me?”

“At Ray’s house. I should’ve been there, I should’ve stopped this—”

“And turned Ray’s house into a war zone? You realize that would’ve put all of you in even _more_ danger?”

Not…not if Matt took Dex out first. But Matt knew better than to say that out loud. _I know that’s not the only line you have_ , Foggy had said, but Foggy had no idea what Matt was capable of. “It’s my fault, Fogs. It’s—all of this—”

“Hey,” Foggy cut in, sounding startled. “It’s _not_ your fault. It’s Fisk’s fault, for thinking he can run around ruining people’s lives. We’re trying to stop him, Matt! That makes us the _good_ guys.”

And what was the point of being one of the good guys if the people he loved still got hurt?

“I get the feeling I’m not convincing you,” Foggy said.

Matt wet his lips and said nothing.

Groaning, Foggy pushed himself out of his chair. It was Matt’s turn to be startled when his best friend crossed the tiny interrogation room, gripped Matt’s uninjured shoulder with one hand and used the other to grab Matt’s hand, pressing it against his chest. “It’s _not your fault_.”

So why did Matt still feel so guilty? Foggy’s heart pounded steadily, but that only meant that Foggy believed his own words.

Foggy’s fingers tightened over Matt’s hand. “C’mon, buddy. Talk to me. Because if we’re gonna send you into Fisk’s hotel like a battering ram, I _really_ need to know that you’re not gonna be, like, a complete martyr.”

“I’m not a martyr.” The words came out bitter. The saints, the martyrs, they only had the courage to give up everything because they still trusted that God was good. But Matt had learned his lesson when he’d given everything for Elektra under Midland Circle and rose again only to discover that, in his absence, Fisk had gotten more powerful than ever.

“Good,” Foggy said, his voice fervent under an artificial lightheartedness. “No martyring yourself, no suicide. Got it? I _will_ make you sign a contract, Murdock, I’ve got a fancy pen in my pocket somewhere, and it makes all agreements extra binding, and I know this because I got an A in contracts. All right? Matt?”

But Matt had stopped listening at the word _suicide_ , flashing back to cold pavement and the smell of blood and a dull ringing in his ear, the scrape of metal. He should tell Foggy about that, probably.

But not right now. Not right now, or Foggy would never let him go to the hotel, and if Matt didn’t get to the hotel, he knew with absolute certainty that Karen would die.

“Matt?” Foggy pressed.

Foggy could talk about good guys and bad guys and fault all he wanted and maybe that helped Foggy sleep at night, but it didn’t change facts, it didn’t banish the guilt, and it did absolutely nothing to stand against the crushing feeling that, in Matt’s efforts to keep everyone he loved safe, he was entirely alone.

Who could he rely on but himself?

And Fisk’s web was so complex, and the people Matt loved were so firmly in the crosshairs, and he was so tired and overwhelmed that he felt his eyes stinging. He heard Foggy open his mouth, so Matt jumped to cut him off. “Listen, F-Foggy, I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Foggy asked suspiciously.

 _All of it,_ Matt wanted to say, but such an overbroad apology would actually be meaningless. “For not telling you about the mask, for starters.”

Foggy half-laughed, half-sighed. “Don’t worry about it, Matt. We’re past that.”

“No, I mean it. I was putting you at risk every night and I didn’t even warn you, and I’m sorry.”

“I said, we’re past that.”

“And…” Slipping his hand out from under Foggy’s, Matt shoved it in his pocket. “I’m sorry for, uh…for losing control. For letting Daredevil become more important than our firm.” He swallowed. Even though he wanted to say Daredevil was never more important than _Foggy_ , he didn’t actually know.

“Wait,” Foggy said.

But Matt was on a roll now. “And I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you what happened to me after Midland Circle. I could’ve called you, S—Maggie asked if I had anyone, and I lied. I let you think I was dead, I thought it was better, and I just…” He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Foggy said slowly, “but why are you saying this now?”

“Because…”

Foggy suddenly pushed even closer into Matt’s personal space. “I swear, Matt, if you’re giving me this dramatic apology because you’re gonna go out and murder Fisk or something—”

“I just…” All Matt could feel was Foggy’s warmth so close in front of him and he couldn’t keep from leaning into it, just a little. “I just need you to know.”

Foggy gripped his arm. “Don’t be stupid. Promise me.”

“I won’t,” Matt said quietly, hoping that if he had to break his promise, Foggy would never know. It could look like an accident.

“Is that a lie? I can’t hear your heartbeat.” Foggy’s voice hardened. “Because you should know that if we get through this, I wanna try again.”

Matt froze. “What?”

“I owe you apologies too. More than what I gave you at the church, I mean. I tried to make you be the version of you I wanted, and…” Foggy shrugged weakly. “That’s not you. After everything, especially after tonight…I get it now. So if…if Fisk gets put away and Hell’s Kitchen is safe again, if…if you wanna not just be a vigilante but be the other part of you, too…”

Matt felt dizzy. “What, like…?”

“Nelson and Murdock.” And there was suddenly so much light in Foggy’s voice. “We can do it again. The right way, this time. If you want.”

Matt hadn’t thought that far ahead, not nearly that far ahead. Being a lawyer again, having a practice, having clients, wearing a suit and eating cobbler in a tiny conference room…it was too good to be true, too good to last.

Foggy edged backwards. “If you want,” he repeated hesitantly.

Matt nodded instantly, grasping for this thing he didn’t deserve. “Yeah. Yeah. I mean, if you want.” It would just hurt more in the end, but Matt had never been exactly averse to suffering. “If you, uh…”

“If I what?”

“…If you trust me.” It was a test; Foggy shouldn’t trust him; Matt didn’t trust himself.

“Screw it,” Foggy muttered under his breath. Then he reached out and wrapped his arms around Matt, pulling him in for a fierce hug. It hurt. “I trust you.”

Closing his eyes, Matt let himself breathe in all of Foggy’s strength. Just for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matt needs a Nap.


	30. Chapter 30

Ray

As a federal agent, Ray wasn’t usually intimidated by municipal police precincts. Today was a new experience. He’d shed his conspicuous FBI jacket and now stood in front of the fifteenth precinct in just a suit, looking more like an attorney than an enforcer for the executive branch.

He was supposed to turn himself in, and from there meet with Nelson and Murdock, and hopefully come up with a plan. Assuming Nelson and Murdock could prevent him from being arrested on the spot. On the one hand, he wasn’t convinced the DA had enough to convict him of conspiracy; shouldn’t he have a legal defense to _some_ extent, given the threats to his life and his family? But he wasn’t sure the defense would kick in soon enough. Maybe he’d turned a blind eye for too long. and Ray knew better than most that prolonged ignorance was not a defense. No judge would care that Ray put the whole city at risk because he wanted his kid to have a pool.

And so the temptation was in the back of his head: just turn around, walk away, go to the address where Seema and Sami were, try everything he could to make things right with them. Apologize for the secrets, yes, but also for the pride (the _greed_ ) that got them all so deep into this danger in the first place.

But if he did that, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand the sight of himself in the mirror. The debt he owed to his family was one thing; the debt he owed to this city for letting Fisk grow like a tumor…that was another.

Steeling himself, Ray straightened his tie and walked into the precinct.

 

Matt

Foggy wanted to try again. He wanted to try again in spite of everything. As though Matt hadn’t hurt him, both personally and professionally (Foggy lost his _license_ because of Matt’s recklessness, and that was still something Matt needed to fix) time and again.

And now Matt was torn between this feeling like he could do anything as long as he knew Nelson and Murdock would be waiting for him on the other side, and abject terror that he would blow this final chance.

Easier not to think about it.

“We can work out of my parents’ shop for a while,” Foggy was saying excitedly. “Just until we can get our own place again. And if Karen doesn’t wanna go back with Ellison, maybe she’d work with us, just like old times.”

Not just like old times; too much had changed. Between all of them. Matt cocked his head at the sound of two familiar heartbeats heading their direction. “Brett got to Ray.”

Foggy breathed a sigh of relief. “Perfect. Brett can keep anyone from murdering him in the precinct, and you can keep anyone from murdering him outside.”

The matter-of-fact confidence in Foggy’s voice threw Matt a little. “Yeah,” he said, a beat too late.

The door opened; Brett led Ray in, and Matt caught the faintest scent of blood lingering on Ray. Ray was also tense, body charged like a wire. Of course—Brett would’ve told Ray that his family never made it to Bess Mahoney’s house.

“I’ve gotta get into that hotel,” Ray said immediately.

“It’ll be dangerous,” Brett pointed out.

In the following silence, Matt assumed Ray was giving Brett a searing look, since that was exactly what Matt would be doing had Brett given him such an inane warning.

“Here’s the idea so far,” Foggy interrupted in that placating voice of his. “Ray, you help Matt get past the perimeter. What you do after that is up to you. Since, uh, since Fisk knows your family was trying to escape with Karen, we can only assume the jig is up and he knows he can’t manipulate you anymore.”

Ray stood up a little straighter, like Foggy’s certainty meant as much to him as it did to Matt.

“Once Matt is in,” Foggy went on, “I’ll call the police so Brett can have some thin layer of plausible deniability when he sends the NYPD to crash an FBI operation. And then…” He trailed off.

Ray shifted his weight. “And then we, what, hope for the best?”

Foggy shrugged. “Matt can keep your family safe.”

Again with the confidence.

Bret cleared his throat. “Matt? Walk Ray through the chaos you plan to cause.”

“Uh, yeah.” Matt rubbed the back of his neck. “Fisk and Dex are the priorities. I realize other agents are corrupt, but if they’ve been manipulated by Fisk, that’s different from being a cold-blooded killer.”

“Not all of them were manipulated,” Ray said darkly.

“Any specific names?” Matt demanded.

Ray hesitated. “No.”

“So Fisk and Poindexter are still my priority. I’ll deal with the other threats as they come.”

“Hmm.” Ray did not sound like he shared Foggy’s confidence.

“Actually…” Matt tilted his head at Brett. “Brett, there’s something you can do for me. There’s a man who was brought in just as Foggy and I got here. Melvin Potter.”

“He was arrested under suspicion of aiding and abetting Fisk.”

Matt smiled grimly. “He ‘s also the man who made my suit. He might—”

“Get you more protection?” Fogg jumped in hopefully. “Like actual armor? Anything to make you less of a squishy human pincushion?”

“Foggy.”

Foggy shoved his hands into his pockets. “Sorry.”

Matt turned up one corner of his mouth to show his appreciation before focusing on Brett again. “If I can talk to him, I might get ahold of something to level the playing field when I’m dealing with Poindexter. But if you can’t make that happen _soon_ , it won’t be worth it.”

Foggy’s breathing changed like he wanted to argue the point, but he kept silent.

“We’re way past red tape,” Brett said. “If you and Nadeem wanna follow me, I’ll take you straight to him.”

“Matt, your identity,” Foggy blurted out.

Matt shrugged uneasily. “Melvin could probably figure out who I am if he wanted.” He knew his body size and type, and Matt had been to his shop in nothing more than a hoodie.

“But…” Foggy sounded bewildered.

Matt wasn’t sure how to explain why he trusted Melvin…except that he knew Melvin believed Matt would protect the person he loved, and Matt of all people knew how immutable a conviction like that really was. “Melvin won’t give me away, Foggy. Just…trust me.”

From Foggy’s rapid heartbeat, Matt guessed he wasn’t happy about this. But again, he didn’t argue. Instead, he held his hand out towards Ray, asking for the tiny camera. “That way we can use everything you’ve got, even if…” He trailed off.

Ray only hesitated for a second before unclipping the wire. “There, uh…there might be some incriminating footage on that…”

“Which is why you’re leaving it with _me_ , your attorney, and not any of our esteemed officers of the law. No offense, Brett.”

Brett just sighed. “Let’s move.”

Matt moved towards the door, stopping only when Foggy grabbed his arm—his injured arm, so pain now spiked around Matt’s shoulder.

“Be careful,” Foggy whispered.

“I will.” Matt managed a gentler smile. “Nelson and Murdock, remember?”

Foggy took a deep breath. “After this, maybe it’ll be Nelson, Murdock, and Page.”

 

Melvin was waiting for them in yet another interrogation room. Brett and Ray lingered outside while Matt tucked his glasses into a pocket, folded up his cane, and ducked in. He wanted to get in and out quickly, both because he was highly aware that each passing minute was another minute Karen spent in Fisk’s presence and because being in the same room as Melvin made the guilt knot together in his gut.

Melvin flinched, understandably apprehensive at the appearance of Matt’s disheveled self. “Who’re you?”

“Melvin, it’s me.” Matt slid into the seat across the table from him.

“ _You?_ How—why—”

“Melvin,” Matt said urgently. “I’m sorry you’re in here.”

Melvin’s voice turned sad. “They got you too?”

Oh—sad for Matt? “No, I’m not—listen. I think I can help you. I know some members of the NYPD, and I know some defense attorneys who can take your case. I’ll get you out of here, all right?”

“You can do that?” Melvin asked uncertainly.

“I can, but I need your help. I’ve gotta stop Fisk.”

“I’m sorry,” Melvin blurted out. “I’m sorry I did what he said, I’m sorry I didn’t—”

Matt shook his head. “It’s done, and now we need to worry about stopping the man who wore my suit. I need protection. Do you have anything, Melvin, _anything_ that can help me?”

Honestly, he wasn’t expecting much. But Melvin started nodding right away. “In my old shop. The one I burned.”

Matt blinked. “If you burned it, how does that help me?”

“It was in a box,” Melvin explained. “Fire resistant. I made the material myself. I was saving the suit for you.” He scuffed his foot against the floor. “I figured, since you didn’t come back for so long, you must’ve been hurt bad. I figured you’d need new protection.”

The guilt rose up again; Matt had never thought about what his disappearance after Midland Circle would’ve meant to Melvin. “It wasn’t your fault. I chose to…put myself in that position.”

“But you got hurt,” Melvin said bitterly. “I didn’t keep you safe.”

No, Matt was the one who’d broken his promise, who’d let Fisk get to Melvin after promising him that would never happen again. “Melvin, your suit kept me _alive_. And this new one will do the same thing.”

“It’s just a prototype,” Melvin said awkwardly. “It’s not red like your other one, and it isn’t—”

“Is it armored?”

“It’s armored, but it won’t keep you as safe as the other one. The material’s not as good, I didn’t have the good stuff yet.”

If it was armored at all, it was a step up from what he was wearing now. Matt nodded confidently. “I’ll take it. Thank you, Melvin.”

He stood up, but Melvin stood up even faster, stumbling around the table. “You’ll stop him, right?”

Matt hoped for once he was making Melvin a promise he could keep. “Yeah. I will. And…Melvin, listen, I’m—”

“I’m sorry I made the suit for him,” Melvin whispered. “I’m sorry I worked for Fisk.”

“I told you I would keep you and Betsy safe,” Matt said heavily. “And I couldn’t do that for a while. It’s my fault.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry,” Melvin insisted.

Matt didn’t have time to get stuck in an apology battle with Melvin. “It’s fine.”

“It’s _not_ fine.”

It…really wasn’t fine. At a loss for what else to do to calm him down, Matt reached out and set his hand on Melvin’s shoulder. “I forgive you, all right?”

Matt was not the one who’d been most harmed by what Melvin did, so arguably Matt was not the one from whom forgiveness would mean as much. But if Matt could release Melvin from at least a small portion of the guilt, he’d do it.

And Melvin did indeed look relieved, like Matt’s word of forgiveness meant he could stand just slightly taller. “Thank you, and please be careful.”

“I will. And when I’m done, I’ll get you out of here. I promise.” With that, Matt pulled his hand back and headed for the door.

 

Karen

Seema and Sami were asleep, tangled up together in one bed. Karen sat on the floor with her back pressed to the door (like that would do any good keeping anyone out) and watched while the sunlight lit up the room. A false sense of peace and hope.

Fisk threatened her dad. The only person in her family she hadn’t personally killed would be her mom, and Karen’s dreams already managed to question that.

Squaring her jaw, Karen stood up. The door was locked from the outside, but she walked across the room to stand right in front of the camera, arms folded over her chest.

She only had to wait a few minutes before there was a _click_ and the door opened to reveal Dex, raising an eyebrow as he gestured for her to join him in the hall so he could shut the door behind them. “Didn’t wanna wake up the sleeping beauties,” he explained, jerking his head back towards the room. “So, you called?”

She met his gaze, staring into eyes that had watched so many people die. “I need to talk to Fisk.”

“Uh, nah, Kingpin’s busy. Planning stuff.”

“What’s he planning?”

Dex grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Fisk wants me to be on your side,” she said flatly. “I need to tell him I accept the offer.”

“I’ll pass on the massage. That all you wanted?”

Her mind raced. Even if Fisk was busy, that didn’t mean Dex couldn’t help her. “Actually, no. I need to talk to Felix Manning.”

Dex frowned. “For what?”

“Don’t be stupid, Dex. Not if you can help it.”

“Excuse me?” he spluttered.

She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “C’mon, I’m not a hired gun. If Fisk has a job for me, it’ll be something _slightly_ more cerebral than dressing up in a devil costume and pretending to be someone else. Something more on Felix Manning’s level.”

Anger flashed in Dex’s eyes. “I’m not some hired gun.”

“Keep telling yourself that, sweetie.” As soon as she said it, she thought she was pushing it too far.

Dex leaned in closer. “You’re not loyal to Fisk, and I’m gonna have _so_ much fun when everyone realizes that.”

“Literally no one cares if I’m loyal to Fisk. They just care that I’m loyal to my dad.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“Fisk threatened my father. Not that you’d understand. Not like there’s anyone you care about protecting.”

“That’s not true,” Dex snapped, neck reddening.

“Oh, _really?_ ” She took a step towards him; they were only inches apart. “Who is it?”

He gave a sharp shake of his head. “Just shut up.”

“Take me to Felix Manning.”

“Whatever.” He turned the other way down the hall. “Follow me.”


	31. Chapter 31

Matt

He was leading Ray down back alleys, headed towards Melvin’s old shop, and couldn’t help feeling impressed at how well Ray kept up. For two guys who’d both recently been shot, they were doing a good job pretending otherwise.

Ray caught his breath as they turned down yet another alley, this one long and thin and cold without any sunlight. “I need to ask you something.”

Slowing to a stop, Matt braced himself. “You wanna know about Daredevil.”

“How do you do it? Stepping back and forth over that line…” Ray moved to stand beside him. “I shot someone. A fellow agent. I have to believe it was in self-defense, but that’s just it—I _have_ to believe it, so for all I know I’m just…convincing myself.”

“Do you really think you’re the kind of man who could take someone else’s life without good reason?”

There was stifled pain in Ray's voice. “I don’t _want_ to think I’m that kind of man, so how would I know?”

Matt swallowed, remembering the imagined feel of Fisk’s neck snapping between his hands, the sound of Fisk’s dying breaths. “Yeah.”

“And…I’m not the man I want to be anymore. Ignoring the signs of corruption all around me, just because I wanted to show off to my kid with a damn pool—”

“Fisk is smart,” Matt said darkly. “His machinations aren’t easy to notice.”

Ray scoffed. “All I cared about was making my son proud of me. Not because I was a good man, though. Not because I was a man of integrity. Just because I was good enough at my job to buy him a pool.”

Matt didn’t know what to say.

Ray took a deep breath. “I lied to my wife. Over and over again. About the danger, what I was doing. I don’t know if she’s forgiven me for that. I don’t know if she _should_.”

“It’s her choice,” Matt said quickly, before he could think twice.

Ray lifted his head. “What?”

“It’s her choice. To forgive.” Matt pressed his lips together. “Don’t take that away from her.”

Ray nodded slowly. “It seems like your friends have forgiven you.”

Matt half-smiled. “Despite my best efforts.”

The better question was how long the forgiveness would last; how long before something (the stress, the danger, or more likely just _Matt_ ) drove them away. He’d fight to keep Foggy safe, fight to get Karen back, of _course_ he would. But he couldn’t help assuming that he was fighting so hard for something evanescent, like the last lingering notes of a choir about to stop singing.

 _Nelson and Murdock_ , Foggy had said, but he’d said that before and the firm still collapsed under the weight of Matt’s mistakes. It seemed naïve at this point to believe this time would be different.

Shoving those thoughts aside, Matt quickened their pace and Ray stopped asking questions. Their path was slightly more convoluted path than what Matt would normally take; it was daylight, so rooftops were out of the question, and he didn’t now how pervasive Fisk’s view of the city was, so he tried stick to obscure paths wherever possible. It wasn’t exactly efficient. Letting paranoia slow them down in his own city felt like ceding something to Fisk, but he refused to let Fisk win just because Matt got overconfident.

After about ten minutes, they finally reached the burned-out hollow that used to be Melvin’s shop. Mat stopped at the charred threshold.

Ray swore under his breath. “Did he use a blow torch or a bomb?”

Matt sniffed tentatively. “Doesn’t matter. This is it.”

“GSR and latex?” Ray asked.

Matt flashed a grim smile. “This way.” He wove through the cluttered remains from the fire. The stench of burnt metal and rubber couldn’t mask the scent waiting for him in a back room. He came to a stop in front of a box low to the ground, dropping to his knees in front of it and rapping lightly on the surface. “This is it.”

“Got it.” Ray came up behind him with a crowbar, swiftly jamming the box open. Matt sneezed from the cloud of ashes and reached into the box, skimming his fingers over the material inside. The new suit. It felt firm, the fibers pulled tight together, with just enough give that he should still have a full range of motion. It felt perfect.

He pulled out the various pieces. He retrieved the helmet last, running his fingers over the sharp horns. “How’s it look?”

“Scary,” Ray answered.

“Sorry?”

Ray cleared his throat. “It’s all black, even the eyepieces.”

“Well, scary is kind of what I’m going for.” He pulled off his oversized jacket.

Ray hissed in a breath. “What happened to—”

“I’m fine.” Matt ghosted his hand over the wound in his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”

But Ray moved in closer like he was trying to get a better look. “Are you insane? That’s from a _bullet_.”

“Well, when you decide to let _your_ injury stop you, let me know and I’ll sit this one out with you.”

Ray held still, then laughed darkly under his breath. “You got me there.”

Grinning at the weird sense of camaraderie he suddenly felt from an FBI agent, Matt pulled his torn shirt over his head. But he kept the other shirt, the one Maggie had given him. He changed quickly into the new suit, rolling his shoulders and bouncing lightly on his toes to get used to the new feel. It was surprisingly flexible, given the solid weight of the material. It wouldn’t stop a bullet, he was sure, nor a knife stabbed directly into him…but even his old suit hadn’t managed that.

“Good?” Ray asked.

Matt nodded. “Good.”

“Just…don’t use this as an excuse to be stupid, all right?”

Matt smirked. “Why, Agent, are you worried about me? One second,” he added, when Ray turned pointedly towards the door. Matt ran his hand over the remaining contents of the box. Melvin was a professional with extreme attention to detail; Matt found it unlikely that he would forget…aha. He withdrew two metal clubs.

Ray was quiet for a moment, as if staring at the clubs. Then: “You got a permit for those?”

“What—no—ugh.” Matt picked up the mask, though he didn’t put it on.

“Horns,” Ray said blankly.

Rolling his eyes, Matt sheathed the clubs and shrugged back into the jacket, making sure it concealed the mask under his arm. He undoubtedly looked ridiculous and wouldn’t be able to hide from anyone who looked too close. At least the suit was, according to Melvin, not red. “Let’s move.”

Ray continued to follow his lead as they wound their way through the city. They had no choice but to stick to the shadows as much as possible, but every second the sun rose was another second Karen spent in danger. Probably heightening the danger, knowing her. Each time they had to double back to avoid the line of sight of civilians, Matt felt his anxiety ratchet up.

Was he underestimating her? He’d really thought he wasn’t, when she went to rescue Seema and Sami alone. True, he’d definitely considered her somewhat naïve when they first met, her survival of prison assassinations notwithstanding. In his defense, everyone born and raised in Hell’s Kitchen typically saw people from outside that way. And Matt was all too aware that he’d had to grow up a year or two or ten faster than most people. But she’d proven herself to be more than capable since.

But Fisk and Poindexter together…Matt wished he felt more confident about his own chances, let alone Karen’s.

He could only imagine how this must feel for Ray. Did Seema know anything about self-defense?

They approached the hotel and a shiver ran down Matt’s spine at the incessant hum of technology and beeps of alarms. The building practically vibrated with electrical energy. And was Matt wrong, or were there more footsteps than normal, more voices?

“He’s increased security,” he reported in a low voice.

Ray’s heart beat faster. “Because of us?”

Matt just shrugged.

A few seconds later, Ray came to a stop beside a door.

“Here?” Matt asked quietly.

“Here,” he confirmed.

With a nod, Matt shed his jacket. Ray stuffed Matt the discarded fabric under a bush while Matt fit the mask over his eyes. Then Ray drew something, a card, from his own pocket, and passed it under some kind of sensor. Matt heard a lock disengage. Ray pushed the door open…and they were in.

 

Karen

“Right here,” Dex drawled, turning a doorknob and opening the door with his shoulder. Karen stepped past him into some kind of conference room to see Felix Manning standing in front of a large window, staring out into the city.

She wasn’t sure, it could just be a trick of the bright light behind him, but she thought Manning looked older and grayer than he’d been the last time she’d seen him. Maybe scrambling to put together whatever Fisk was planning was taking its toll? Or maybe all Matt’s interference was giving him a bit of stress. She felt a smile spreading on her face and didn’t bother to hold it back.

Manning turned around. “Miss Page!” He sounded delighted through his accent. “I _did_ hear rumors that you’d graced us with your presence.”

“Well, I guess even you have to turn up some accurate information eventually.” She glanced surreptitiously around the room. Given more time and the right resources, she might be able to match him with research—dig up enough dirt on him to shake his position for Fisk, or secure evidence against him. Failing that, though….

Dex leaned against the doorway with his arms folded casually, but his eyes narrowed as he watched them.

“Are you enjoying your stay?”

“No.” She walked closer, stopping just at the end of the long conference table, about four feet away from Manning, littered with pens and pads of paper. “But I _am_ staying. I have you to thank for that, I think.”

“What Fisk does with the information I give him is no concern of mine,” Manning countered.

“You sure? You’re not interested at all?”

Manning’s eyes glittered. “It doesn’t do to ask so many questions. Some might even consider it rude.”

“Some might consider holding someone hostage by threatening her father rude, but I guess that doesn’t bother you.”

“It’s merely a means to an end.”

Something hot spiked through her at hearing her dad referred to as a _means_. She wanted to hit him, claw that smug tone out of his throat. Except Dex would kill her. Wouldn’t he? She pressed her lips together before she could say something stupid.

“Smart girl,” Manning murmured.

She glanced around the room again. Surely there had to be _something_ useful here. Not that she expected Manning to leave all his notes lying around, not that she was even sure whether this was his office or just a room he’d picked because he liked the view, but…there had to be _something_. All the pads of paper were blank.

Manning’s voice was suddenly much closer. “And what do you think you’re looking for?”

She jumped, stepping back towards the table to put some distance between herself and his papery skin. “Is there anyone here working for Fisk because they actually believe in his visions?”

Manning’s eyes darted briefly towards Dex. “We all have our reasons.”

“And let me guess, you’re the one person holding it all together. How convenient for you.”

Behind them, Dex’s radio squawked. He cleared his throat. “Gotta go. You two have fun.” The sound of his boots receded; the door squeaked closed as he left.

Locking eyes with Manning, she curled her fingers around one of the pens on the table behind her back.

Manning pursed his lips. “Well, you may as well ask for what you came for, since it seems I’ll be the one to escort you back to your room, and I really don’t have time to—” He broke off with a gasp as she suddenly lunged close, grabbing his lapel with one hand and pressing the tip of his pen against his throat with the other.

“I’m not asking.”

His breath ghosted hot over her face. “What do you want?”

Her heart thundered in her ears, although she wasn’t sure why. Fury coursed through her veins and she felt drunk with power at the fear in his eyes and she was terrified of leaving this room with his blood on her hands. “Anything. Everything you can give me.”

He breathed sharply under the pressure of the pen. “Fisk has connections to other crime bosses throughout Hell’s Kitchen. He’s selling them protection in exchange for—”

“I already know about that. Do better.”

A bead of blood appeared beneath the pen’s point and sweat rolled down his temple. “I witnessed Fisk order the murder of Agent Winn and Julie Barnes and…and countless others!”

Winn must have been an FBI agent, maybe one that retained a conscience; that didn’t sound too shocking. She leaned in closer. “Who’s Julie Barnes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Karen, let's goooo!


	32. Chapter 32

Matt

Now that Ray had gotten Matt in, the FBI agent could, technically, have backed off. The NYPD just needed the panic over Daredevil’s imminent actions to motivate them to invade the hotel. But Matt had no expectation whatsoever that Ray wouldn’t try to find a way to help; Matt’s only concern was that Ray didn’t end up caught in the crossfire.

“Where are they?” Ray whispered. “You can hear them, can’t you?”

Matt cocked his head. “Your family’s on Fisk’s floor. Just a few rooms away. They’ve been left alone for now.”

“And Karen?”

Matt’s heart beat even faster as he strained his senses. Karen wasn’t with the Nadeems. “She’s—I can’t—” He listened for her voice, her footsteps, anything, but the building was too loud and there were too many people and too much machinery and—his head snapped up. “She’s somewhere else, talking to an old man.”

“Felix Manning?”

“Maybe.” Yes, the old man was talking now, and he had an accent, like Karen had said in Melvin’s shop. “You should get to the computers, secure whatever evidence you can before it all goes up in flames.”

Ray’s reply was immediate. “I’m done putting anything else ahead of my family.”

Matt knew better than to bother trying to convince him otherwise. They’d have to hope the footage from Ray’s camera was enough. “Fine. Go.” Besides, he wasn’t particularly sure he wanted Ray around when he finally found Fisk. Or the NYPD, for that matter. Which meant he had to move fast.

But he had to get to Karen first. If she got hurt because he'dtold her not to run…Matt gave himself one second to stuff down the panic while Ray set off down a hallway, setting a purposeful pace that would only look suspicious to someone who already knew he wasn’t supposed to be there. Matt chose the opposite direction, making his way straight for the stairwell.

Technically, his mission was to cause chaos. But he wanted Karen out of the line of fire.

Especially since…his heart started hammering the closer he got to where her voice was coming from. He could smell _blood_. He concentrated even as he took the stairs two at a time. The blood wasn’t…wasn’t hers. But in a place like this, he wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. Fisk already wanted to kill her because of Wesley. What would Fisk do when he realized whatever she’d done to the Fixer?

The sense of calm from Ray's support vanished like mist, leaving nothing but fear and fury in its wake.

To be fair, Matt was used to that by now.

The sudden crackle of radio feedback snapped his attention away from Karen. “ _Masked intruder in the stairwell, third floor, moving up. I repeat, masked intruder in the stairwell._ ”

Great. Great.

Best course of action seemed to be to just keep going. They’d find him no matter what, but he’d rather have the fight in a stairwell where everyone looking to fight him would be either above him or below, and that was it. Of course, he’d also have to be careful not to flip anyone over the railing and send them plummeting to their deaths on the concrete below. He wasn’t as worried about that as he probably should've been.

There were footsteps running down a hallway towards the stairwell door on the next level up. He sprinted past, stopping on the step just above the landing. As soon as the door opened, he used his height advantage to drive his weight down. The crack of bones breaking in the doorway gave Matt sick satisfaction. Swearing echoed. Matt stepped back, let the guy’s partner shoulder his way into the stairwell, and sent the guy sprawling down the stairs with a kick straight to the forehead. No point in letting the devil out on them; he’d save that for Fisk. Then Matt was off again, one ear listening for radios, the other listening for Karen. He finally burst out onto the hallway of her floor.

When he got close enough to actually hear her heartbeat, the relief was like a physical punch to the chest.

 

 

Karen

By the time she was done with him, Felix Manning had a hole in his neck dribbling blood. She couldn’t bring herself to regret it. He passed out at the sight of red droplets on his crisp white sleeve, but not until after Karen had gotten the information she needed.

What she was going to _do_ with this information, she wasn’t sure. But in her experience, knowledge really was power.

Then again, she had no idea what would happen once Felix woke up and told someone what she did. It was possible she’d just signed her own death warrant. But at least she wasn’t going down without a fight.

Working swiftly, she wiped up Felix’s blood as best she could, and then she wiped off the pen. She didn’t imagine a lack of fingerprints would save her, but it was instinct at this point. Then she ducked into the hall, slowly pulling the door closed until it latched almost noiselessly.

At that moment, a gloved hand pressed over her mouth, coupled with a low voice: “ _Shh_.”

The fact that she recognized his low voice did nothing to calm the adrenaline surging through her. She spun around only to feel another jolt of panic at the sight of the devil in front of her: black eyes and small horns, a demon wrapped in armored shadow. Instinctively, she reached out to touch her finger against the only part of him that looked like _Matt_ : the sharp lines of his jaw visible under the mask.

“It’s me,” he said roughly, redundantly.

“I know,” she said quickly. There was so much else she wanted to say: thank him for coming for her, tell him not to be stupid, ask if he even had a plan. “What’re you doing here?”

He recited the plan—he _did_ have a plan, it was a miracle—in crisp words. “Nadeem got me in, and I’m gonna cause enough trouble that Foggy and Brett can send the NYPD in after me. Just stay out of the way and you’ll be fine.”

“What about you?”

His jaw tightened. “I have to get to Fisk and Dex.”

Technically, if the NYPD was about to crash the hotel, they might find enough evidence to go after Fisk. And if they also had Ray’s footage and Ray’s testimony, it should be more than enough.

But. She couldn’t help agreeing that it would be stupid to trust any agency to handle Fisk, not after everything. “They’re in the suite, last I heard. But listen, Matt…I know something about Dex.”

“What?”

“He was in love with a woman named Julie, she was helping him deal with…” She waved her hand. “Everything. Fisk killed her.”

He cocked his head. “Like a north star? And how do you know this?”

“Felix Manning.”

Matt nodded slowly. “That guy in the room behind you, I take it. I’ll make sure Dex knows. You just keep your head down.”

Before, she would’ve balked at that. But Dex had swooped right into Nadeem’s home and he could’ve killed her if he’d wanted, so…swallowing her pride, Karen didn’t argue. “I’ll find Seema and Sami, keep them outta the line of fire.”

He hesitated,but then, to her surprise, he nodded again.

She raised her eyebrows. “That’s it? You’re not gonna tell me it’s too dangerous?”

He wet his lips. Weird that she could read his reluctance in his mouth, in the shape of his lips. “Clearly, you can take care of yourself,” he said.

She couldn’t see his eyes, but she could hear the sincerity in his voice. It warmed something deep inside her that she definitely didn’t have time to think about right now.

“Just—Karen—” His hand reached towards her before he pulled it back. “Just—please, be careful.”

If she was smart, maybe she’d take his advice, take this chance and try to escape the hotel entirely. But she’d failed at protecting Seema and Sami; if there was the _slightest way_ she could help them by staying, she’d stay. And since Matt hadn’t told her to get out of there, she assumed there was something he thought she could bring to the table. “I’ll be careful,” she promised. A compromise. He deserved that. “You too, though. Once Dex finds out…”

“He’ll kill anyone in his way,” Matt said grimly.

Was that…was that his _plan?_ Fire Dex like a loose canon and hope he hit Fisk? Karen felt suddenly cold. Maybe that was far enough from murdering Fisk himself to appease his Catholic sensibilities, but she didn’t think so. “Matt,” she said slowly, “what’re you gonna do? To Fisk?”

His mask was unreadable. “Make sure he never hurts anyone again.”

Her stomach dropped. “Okay, but…what does that mean?”

He barely lifted his chin, defiant and defensive, but his voice was soft. “Don’t be naïve, Karen.”

She curled her fingers into his shirt. “You don’t get to say that. Not to me. Not about this.” She tugged him closer. “Killing _anyone_ , even Fisk, it will…it will change everything you think about yourself.”

“I’m still me,” he challenged. “You said it yourself. This won’t change that.”

“It’s _because_ you’re still you that I know it _will_ change everything. All right?” Unfurling her clenched fist, she pressed her palm across his chest. Over his heart. “Because you’re still you, with everything you believe in even if…” She bit her lip. “Even if you can’t see it right now.”

He held very still and gave no answer. Then his head twitched like he’d heard something. But he didn't pull away, not yet.

She wished she could rip off the mask, stare into his eyes and see if she was getting through to him. But she’d rather leave the mask on, if only to convince him that he couldn’t put that mask on just to escape who he really was. Who he still was.

And she thought she knew a good way to convince him.

Snaking her hand around his neck, she pulled him down and smashed her lips to his, knotting her fingers in his hair peeking out under the mask and holding him close despite his initial flinch of surprise. When he finally pulled back, he was breathing unevenly.

“C’mon,” she whispered. “I still believe in you.”


	33. Chapter 33

Seema

It was after three in the morning and she couldn’t sleep. The mattress, pillows, and blankets were the most luxurious she’d ever known since her honeymoon with Ray (she couldn’t forget anything about that precious week, including the quality of the beds), but she didn’t dare relax. She’d turned off most of the lights for Sami, but she left the light on in the bathroom and she left the door cracked. The dim light glanced across the door to the hotel room, giving Seema a clear view in case someone intruded.

Sami had finally fallen asleep, fitfully, and Seema held him close even though his every twitch jostled her. She didn’t know what she thought she’d do if trouble came. She didn’t even know what trouble to expect. Would Dex really shoot them, if he was using them as leverage against Ray? Could anyone here really _afford_ to shoot them? Was the entire FBI so corrupt, was the NYPD so blind?

She still didn’t know what was _happening_. But clearly it wasn’t just Dex who was a problem.

Gritting her teeth, she pulled Sami closer. No matter what happened to Ray, Dex would have to go through her to get to their son.

And…something was happening, wasn’t it? Footsteps hurried past outside; she heard a low, muffled voice. A minute or so later, it happened again. No one tried to get into the room; the knob didn’t so much as creak. But Seema felt the dread settle in her chest, dull and tight and heavy, and realized almost absently that she wouldn’t sleep again until this was over. One way or another.

Keeping her eyes on the door, she kissed Sami’s head.

_Scritch. Scritch. Scritch._

She froze, held her breath at the sound.

_Scritch._

She wasn’t imagining things. Something was…scratching at the door?

No, no.

_Click._

Picking the lock.

She jolted upright, heart in her throat.

Sami stirred sleepily. “Mom…?”

“ _Shh._ ” She slipped out of bed, forcing herself to take slow and even breaths. “Sami, I want you to get under the bed.”

Sami made a scared noise. She heard rustling as he obeyed. She kept her eyes on the door, which was slowly, slowly opening.

All the air rushed out of her at once when she recognized Ray’s profile. He quickly, silently shut the door behind him and barely had time to lock it before she’d flung herself at him. “Ray!”

He winced. “Seema. Where’s—”

“Under the bed.” She pulled back slightly. “You’re hurt.”

Sami wriggled out from under the bed and couldn’t seem to speak as he forced his way between them.

“It’s okay,” Ray was saying in a low voice, over and over. “You’re both okay.” He buried his face briefly into her hair. “But it’s gonna go south real quick, Seema, in this whole hotel. I have to get you out of here.” He dropped his hand onto their son’s head. “C’mon.”

“Wait.” Seema caught Ray’s arm when he tried to pull back. “Wilson Fisk brought us here. If you try to sneak us out…”

He could get killed. She left that part unsaid, for Sami’s sake.

But Ray’s steely eyes told her that he knew what she was thinking and was prepared to risk it anyway. He half-grinned at her. “What’s the worst they can do? I’ve kind of already lost my job. Unofficially.”

Sami bit his lip. “Dad?”

“It’s for the best, kid.” Ray squeezed Sami’s shoulder, then met Seema’s eyes again. “You can’t stay here. It’s safer to leave. There’s…there’s cameras.”

Left unsaid: _If you try to escape, they might not shoot you on camera. But there’s nothing good waiting if you stay under their control._

She nodded.

He pressed his phone into her hand. “Get out. Call the police. No matter what, I need you to leave, all right?”

Left unsaid: _No matter what happens to me._

She swallowed tightly, gripped his phone in her hand. Nodded again.

“Good.” He pressed in closer, squishing Sami between them, and kissed her fiercely. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Behind them, the door squeaked. “Wait, Ray,” a new voice said.

He spun around and Seema stared over his shoulder at the worn, pinched face of his boss. Tammy Hattley stood in the doorway with her handgun aimed at Ray’s chest.

Seema pulled Sami behind her as Ray stepped forward, hands raised nonthreateningly. “Tammy…c’mon…”

Her voice trembled slightly even though her expression remained cold as stone. “This has gotten out of control.”

Ray stiffened. “Because of _you_. Because of _Fisk_. I’m the one trying to salvage something here!”

“It’s too late for that, Ray. I’m sorry.”

But her finger wasn’t on the trigger and it sounded like she meant it. Like she didn’t actually want to shoot anyone. Which gave Seema the courage to throw Ray’s phone as hard as she could at Hattley’s face. The commander ducked back with a yelp; the phone shattered against the wall at the other end of the hall; and Hattley froze.

Because Ray had pulled his gun on her.

And his finger was clearly on the trigger.

“Put it down, Tammy.”

Seema had never heard Ray sound so dangerous.

Maybe Hattley hadn’t either, or maybe it was just the look in his eyes, but she slowly lowered her gun to the ground and took a long step to the side.

Ray instantly darted towards her, keeping his weapon trained on her all the while. His other hand pulled his cuffs from his belt. “I’m sorry, Boss. I really am.”

A tear slid down Hattley’s expressionless face. “Me too, Ray.”

 

 

Matt

“I still believe in you.”

Karen’s heartbeat didn’t waver. Not for a second.

He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Do me a favor, trigger a fire alarm, will you?”

“What? I mean, can you handle that?” At his offended look, she explained, “With your senses. Heightened hearing.”

He smiled grimly. “I’ll manage. We need the NYPD to get here. Just give me five minutes to take out the guys on the stairs first.”

“What guys on the—”

From the sounds of the footsteps, they were right outside the hall. Matt swooped in, kissed her forehead. “Gotta go, bye.” Then he was racing back towards the stairwell. It occurred to him, as her footsteps took off in the opposite direction, that she didn’t have a weapon.

Fortunately, drawing fire and causing chaos sort of went together. Every sound the agents were making echoed off the concrete-enclosed space ahead of him. Not good for his senses, but at least they were trapped in a funnel.

Drawing his new clubs from their sheathes, he jerked the door open and sprang out, driving his elbow into the nearest agent’s throat. A gun went off, ringing in Matt’s ears, but Matt kept ahold of the first agent, using him as a shield as he advanced down the stairs, plowing through anyone trying to get up. It was messy, but moving backwards down a stairway was just asking for broken ankles, broken arms, even the odd concussion as people lost their footing. Matt felt more than heard the _snap_ of bones breaking. He didn’t even need to use his clubs.

By the time the ringing in his ears faded somewhat, he heard more agents above him. They hadn’t opened fire yet, probably too concerned for their fellow agents. But Matt couldn’t afford to take chances. Not yet, anyway. he ducked out onto the nearest floor, the level beneath where he’d found Karen. Now he was off at a dead sprint. _Up_ , he had to get _up_ , and this wasn’t the only stairwell.

The problem with the FBI was that they tended to be smart. Regardless of whether they realized his target was Fisk, they’d clearly realized he was trying to get higher; he could hear heartbeats and sense warm bodies ahead, guarding elevators and the other stairs throughout the hotel. But he’d handled the last mob just fine, and the rest of the agents weren’t so clustered.

More importantly, he could hear their radios. Someone watching the security cameras had spotted him. Through static, he heard a panic-tinged voice relaying his location to everyone listening. But a second later, all Matt and anyone else could hear was the piercing wail of a fire alarm.

_Thank you, Karen._

Then the sprinklers went off overhead, spraying water every which way. Matt was forced to a stop, catching his breath and shaking his head to make sense of the world through the water and the screaming siren. He tightened his grips on his clubs.

He couldn’t tell if anyone was coming towards him, but they knew he was on this floor. Which meant he had to keep going before someone showed up with a gun. Matt had nothing to compare it to as he ran forward, hoping this suit would at least…slow a bullet down, a little.

When he yanked open the next door, the sound of the alarm slamming into every hard surface felt like a knife in his skull. Maybe the alarm was a bad idea. If he stopped now, he’d be dead before the NYPD ever got here and he’d never get to take his shot at Fisk. He forced himself into the stairwell. The agent waiting made the mistake of swearing loudly before he could raise his gun, so Matt threw his club blindly in the man’s direction. Matt wasn’t entirely sure what damage he’d managed to do, but no one was shooting at him, so he’d take it as a win. His club rolled against his boot and just as Matt was picking it up, the alarm finally cut off.

It barely made a difference with the way Matt’s ears were ringing, but he was able to tell from the direction of the agent’s moans that Matt had knocked his would-be assailant to the ground. He leapt straight over the body and kept going.

_Just keep going._

The next agent he encountered was completely surprised. Matt realized after the man was on the ground, clutching the hand that had dropped his gun when Matt’s baton knocked the weapon from his grip, that he could no longer here a disembodied voice warning of his location. Maybe the computers weren’t waterproof or maybe the radios weren’t waterproof or both—Matt didn’t care. He’d take it.

Still, the sudden silence was…ominous. Like the entire hotel was gathering itself to ward off the intruder.

Well, it was a bit too late to worry about that now.

Matt’s boots squeaked on wet steps. The nearest agents to him were a full minute behind, he’d guess. Maybe two.

And just above—Fisk’s voice like a sledgehammer, barking orders. Matt escaped the stairwell into a new hallway and now Fisk’s booming, thundering heart set Matt’s pace. He rammed through the last door between them and came face-to-face with Fisk.

Who was standing in front of Vanessa.

Vanessa. He’d almost forgotten.

Dex moved swiftly in front of his boss. He’d grabbed his Daredevil suit and Matt heard droplets from the sprinkler still sliding down the armor, dripping from the batons. But Dex didn’t attack.

“Have you come to kill me?” Fisk asked, voice now quiet and velvety in contrast to the way he’d been shouting just moments before.

Matt took a slow, steadying breath. The room was ornate: a fully-stocked kitchen, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. There was also the quiet hum of cameras in the corner. “Dex,” Matt said. “Get out of the way.”

“You shouldn’t have come here,” Fisk said calmly. “I know what you’re doing. Working with Agent Nadeem and the NYPD and probably Blake Tower, too. But you have enough evidence for an arrest. Perhaps even for an indictment. So why come here?” Reaching back, he caught Vanessa’s hand. “Is all of this out of concern for Karen Page?”

“I know now that no prison can hold you.”

“Ah,” Fisk murmured. “So you _have_ come to kill me. Dex, please…”

“Julie Barnes,” Matt spat in the millisecond before Dex could raise his batons. “I know what happened to her.”

And the three other hearts in the room all started pounding faster than ever.

 

 

Dex

“How do you know that name?” Dex demanded. “If you hurt her, if you _touched_ her—”

“Fisk,” Murdock said, almost softly. His face under his new mask was impossible to read. “He killed her, Dex.”

Dex couldn’t breathe.

“Don’t listen to him.” Fisk’s words were just as soft behind him. “He’s trying to manipulate you.”

Now Murdock raised his voice. “You’ve _already been_ manipulated! You know what Fisk does! You know what he has Felix Manning do! You really think he wouldn’t turn that on you if that’s what it took to keep you his slave?”

Dex couldn’t breathe.

“Call her,” Murdock said suddenly. “Call her and see.”

She’d blocked his number. He couldn’t be sure. His head spun. His stomach felt hollow.

“Dex.” Fix put a heavy hand on Dex’s shoulder. “I understand what you—”

Dex whirled around. “No, you don’t!” Not with Vanessa standing right there, safe and sound and so obviously in love with her precious Fisk. Fisk had so, so many people all helping him and loyal to him and giving him whatever he wanted and Dex—Dex didn’t have that, Dex had _never_ had that, which meant Fisk couldn’t _possibly_ understand no matter what he said.

“Call her,” Murdock ordered.

She’d blocked his number.

_You’ve already been manipulated._

She’d blocked his number.

Dex couldn’t breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I really like Seema. There wasn't much room for her in S3 and I get that, but she struck me as simultaneously strong and supportive and I really appreciated that. It's fun to dig a little deeper into her headspace!
> 
> Also I know I still have to respond to comments on the last chapter, but for the record, I really, really love your comments! You have no idea how encouraging they are!


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay guys this is a mess bc I have a phobia of writing action-based climaxes, but okay here goes

Matt

Dex wasn’t breathing. Matt could hear Fisk’s short, tight breaths, and Vanessa’s shallow breaths, and the three heartbeats, and the water dripping from Dex’s suit, and the cameras whirring away in the corners of the room. But Dex wasn’t breathing. And even Fisk seemed to realize his machinations had reached their limit, because he was doing nothing to stop whatever was about to happen.

Then Matt heard hit: the slightest inhale. The next second, Dex hurled his batons—one at Matt, one at Fisk. They were too close, Matt didn’t have time to catch it, but he dropped beneath the weapon. Fisk wasn’t fast enough; the baton that had impaled itself on innocent civilians at the _Bulletin_ glanced off the crime lord’s jacket like a knife glancing off armor.

Armor.

Fisk’s jacket was armored. Fisk threw himself in front of Vanessa, who was stepping slowly backwards.

Now weaponless, Dex swiveled his head back and forth between Fisk and Matt like he couldn’t decide which he hated more.

“Dex,” Matt said steadily, holding his own batons lightly, ready to throw. Fisk’s head was exposed; a hit would knock him out, and then Matt could decide what else to do to him. “Listen to me. Fisk will—” He broke off.

Just down the hall, Seema was screaming and Karen was shouting.

A gun went off.

And another.

And another.

And damnit— _Karen_. He couldn’t just—he had to know what was happening in there.

Spinning around, Matt abandoned the room, left Fisk behind. Maybe Dex would kill him so Matt wouldn’t have to (and maybe that was better). But, no, Matt heard Dex’s footsteps behind him, scrabbling on the floor just long enough to snatch up the weapon he’d thrown. Matt flung himself to the side of the hall a second later, _felt_ the baton whiz past, heard Dex’s strangled curses as the agent gave chase.

And behind them, he heard  Vanessa’s accented voice. “Wilson! Go!”

“I can’t,” Fisk said. “You’re—”

Matt could smell blood ahead. He just couldn’t tell whose it was.

“Everyone out there is a threat to us,” Vanessa hissed. “But you can _end_ this. Kill them, and let the police blame Dex.”

“The police—”

“As far as they’re concerned, I’m a victim here. But you have to _go_.”

Fisk was done arguing with her. Matt felt the vibrations of his massive body now moving down the hall. But Dex didn’t slow down.

There was no way Matt could lead both Fisk and Dex straight to Karen, yet he was right in front of Seema’s room where Karen was, surrounded by a cluster of heartbeats. She was with Ray and Ray’s family, and she was shouting warnings at a new FBI agent Matt didn’t recognize. A gun went off again. Skidding to a stop in front of the open doorway, Matt whirled around and threw one of his batons, catching Dex on his helmeted head. Dex dropped, sliding on his knees on the floor, but he was still conscious. Melvin had done too good of a job.

And Fisk wasn’t satisfied letting Dex sit this one out, not with Vanessa’s instructions surely ringing in his hears. He caught up to Dex, snatching him up with both hands and flinging him forward until he slammed straight into Matt. They crashed together through the doorway into Seema’s room.

As entrances went, it was one of the least dignified Matt had ever made in his life.

 

Karen

One second, Ray was exchanging warning shots with an FBI agent who’d burst into the room. The next, two armored men fell through the doorway in a tangle of furious limbs. Seema and Sami were under the bed where Karen had shoved them, so they were mostly out of harm’s way, but the agent and Ray both turned their weapons on the intruders.

“Don’t!” Karen gasped.

Fists were flying; Karen couldn’t tell much, but she could tell Matt was winning. He ended up mostly on top of Dex, but then he must’ve heard something because he kicked off Dex’s body just as the new FBI agent fired his gun. Matt rolled under the bullet; Ray wheeled around; before he could shoot, Matt disarmed the other agent, wrenched the slide off the Glock’s frame, dropped the weapon, and struck him with one of his clubs. The gun spun across the floor.

Some of the tension in Karen’s chest lessened.

But before Matt could turn around or Ray could aim his weapon at Dex, before Dex could even get up, a shadow stretched across the doorway.

Fisk.

His eyes darted around the room. Then they locked onto Karen.

With a grunt, Dex dove forward. His gloved hand snatched up the dismantled gun and he hurled the frame—not at Matt but at _Ray_ , catching him in the head. The agent went down in a heap and didn’t move.

Under the bed, Seema yelped.

Dex’s head snapped in her direction like a wolf that scented a rabbit.

In the doorway, Fisk’s mouth curved into a smile.

Grunting, Matt grabbed Ray’s gun. Dex jerked backwards, but Matt’s target was Fisk. He fired—straight into Fisk’s white jacket. The bullet stuck in the material, knocking Fisk two steps backwards into the hall. And it tore Fisk’s eyes off of Karen.

Matt flipped forward—straight up _flipped_ over the bed—to land between her and the rest of the room. And then he backed up right in front of her, his back against her chest, and pressed something into her hand. “Got it?” he whispered.

Ray’s gun.

The warmth that shot through her was completely inappropriate. She made sure her hold on the grip was secure. “Got it.”

Just in time, too. Fisk had caught his breath after absorbing the impact of the bullet. He took a half-step towards Dex, but his eyes kept flickering back to Karen like he couldn’t help himself.

Snarling, Dex backed up against the room’s floor-to-ceiling mirror and rammed his armored elbow into it. Glass shattered musically.

Oh, no.

Dex threw a piece of glass, and Matt had to leap to knock the projectile from the air. Rolling forward, he closed the distance between them and sprang to his feet with his fist swinging.

Karen planted herself in front of Seema. She couldn’t shoot Dex, not with Matt so close, and Fisk’s jacket was bulletproof. She met the crime lord’s eyes and aimed for his head…but her finger hesitated on the trigger.

Fisk’s lips whitened with rage at the sight the weapon in her hands. Did he realize this was the last thing Wesley ever saw?

In her periphery, Matt had Dex on defense, forcing him to retreat, not letting him grab anything or get far enough away to escape the blows Matt was raining down on him. It was all Dex could do to shield his face.

Karen kept her gaze locked on Fisk. He was the threat. Safe in his bulletproof suit, he stalked past Karen towards Matt and Dex. Karen followed him with the barrel of the gun, heart pounding in her fingertips.

Matt threw Dex against the wall, then whipped around to face Fisk, ducking down when Fisk grabbed for him. But Dex’s fingers wrapped around a huge shard of glass.

Karen exhaled slowly and pulled the trigger.

The bullet slammed into Fisk, jolting his huge body. No blood stained his white suit, but he fell forward with the impact of the bullet, bracing himself on the wall. Matt slipped out from beneath him, straight into Dex, who stabbed the glass shard around into Matt’s lower back through his suit.

With a furious yell, Matt grabbed Dex, driving his knee into Dex’s gut, following that with lightning-fast elbow strikes. Dex threw up his arms just to shield his face, trying to stumble out of reach. It wasn’t working.

Karen cocked the gun.

There was a sudden, _cracking_ sound, and Dex screamed, holding his wrist at an awkward angle. Matt didn’t let up, didn’t even hesitate. He kept raining blows onto Dex, twisting Dex’s body whenever the agent tried to grab for one of the fallen batons, a piece of glass, something, anything.

Fisk pushed himself off the wall and took two steps towards Matt and Dex.

_BANG._

Another bullet punched into Fisk, and he let out a roaring yell full of pain, anger, Karen didn’t know.

Dex fell to the floor, curling around his injured wrist, keeping his other arm up over his head. Matt kicked him onto his back and dropped down, pinning him with a knee on Dex’s chest. He pulled back his fist.

Then his head tilted fractionally towards Karen.

With a bitten-off curse, Matt dropped Dex’s barely-conscious form like a ragdoll and stood up, dripping blood from his gloves and from the wound on his back. He turned slowly towards Fisk, who was panting for breath.

Karen cocked her weapon again, but before she could fire, Fisk lurched towards Matt. Matt dodged to the side, jumping and driving his fist into Fisk to add to his momentum. He did that twice more, letting Fisk’s own bulk propel him past his target while Matt dodged out of the way, cutting it closer and closer each time so he could strike back harder.

Until he cut it too close, didn’t get out of the way in time, and Fisk rammed into him, grabbing Matt by the shoulders and throwing him to the ground. Matt landed on his back with a short cry of pain.

Karen squeezed the trigger.

_BANG—BANG—BANG._

Screaming with rage, Fisk whirled around. He staggered from the impact of the bullets, but he moved towards her step by step.

Mouth dry, Karen backed up, holding the gun steady. “Fisk,” she warned.

With a groan, Matt twisted to push himself up onto hands and knees, head hanging limply between his shoulders.

“Matt,” she whispered.

Fisk looked nothing like the version she’d seen in her nightmares. He wasn’t calm and collected, coolly explaining the realities of murder. He looked like his whole world was burning down and he was determined to drag her into the flames with him.

She tilted the gun upwards just ever so slightly. The bullet would pass through his chin and burst out the back of his head. It’d be quick.

Behind Fisk, Matt let out a yell. And she’d never seen him move so fast because before she could blink, before she could do anything, he appeared between them, claiming the space between her and Fisk. His fist struck out and blood sprayed as Fisk’s head snapped back.

Again and again and again.

Matt drove forward and Fisk tripped backwards. Not fast enough to escape, not strong enough to push Matt away. Karen blinked, and then Fisk was on his knees, blood running from his nose and his mouth and a cut over his right eye, which was swollen shut.

And there was Matt. He ripped off his mask. He stalked closer and grasped Fisk with one hand on his jaw and the other at the back of the head.

Karen’s heart leapt into her throat.

Matt’s fingers tightened, digging into flesh. When he shouted, it was too agonized to be pure rage. Shoving Fisk back against the wall, he pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead.

“This is it, then,” Fisk said, his voice shockingly quiet in the aftermath of Karen’s gunshots. “This is how it’ll always be. You and me.”

Matt caught his breath. “No,” he rasped. “You’ve got it wrong.”

Fisk slowly tilted his head.

“It’s not just you and me. It’s not…it’s not just me.” He wet his lips. “It’s this city, too.” His voice tightened. “And it’s the people I love, people _you won’t touch_.”

“You can’t stop me. Not in any way that matters.”

“I can,” Matt said softly. “Because Vanessa, the woman you love, loves you too much. Loves you enough to stand beside you no matter what you do.” He lowered his voice. “I can tie her to all your previous crimes, and I can tie her to everything you’ve done in this building. If you harm Karen Page or Foggy Nelson, or anyone else that I care about, she’ll spend the rest of her life in a cell.”

Fisk glanced past Matt towards Karen, the hate in his eyes dimmed by something much more powerful.

Fear.

So when Matt held out his hand, Fisk took it.

Then Matt cocked his head and stepped back towards Karen. “Cops are coming,” he murmured.

“About time,” she said, trying to sound cavalier as Seema inched warily out from under the bed.

Matt just shrugged, but he reached out and lightly set his hand under both of hers, raising the gun so it aimed at Fisk’s exposed head. He didn’t tell her not to pull the trigger. “Guess that’s my cue,” he said instead. But he only managed one unsteady step towards the nearest window.

“Matt?” She looked closer and realized his hands were trembling. Realized he’d been stabbed in the back by Dex, then thrown to the ground by Fisk. “Hey, are you—”

“I’ll be fine.” He started to brush her off when she reached one hand for him, but he ended up leaning into her touch instead. “I’m fine, m’leaving.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, no…stay here. Police will help. Don’t talk to them, though,” he added like he couldn’t help himself. Defense attorney to the end. “Don’t tell them anything, not even Brett. Foggy’ll…Foggy’ll represent you.”

Her chest tightened at the realization that while Foggy stayed to take care of her, Matt was planning on dragging himself out into the fading twilight, to just…deal with his injuries alone? She wanted to argue, but what could she say? Still, she kept her hand on his shoulder for a moment longer. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

He managed a wry grin. “Don’t I always?”

“ _Promise_ me.”

His face, what she could see of it, softened. “I will. I promise.” Suddenly, he cocked his head. “They’re coming. Gotta go.” He pressed his hand briefly to the side of her face. Then he was shuffling towards the window. With a pained wince, he pushed it open. Then he was gone.

But this time, she really believed he’d come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple things, for those of you who might be interested:
> 
> In Season 2, Matt told Fisk he could prove Vanessa was an accomplice to his previous crimes. I'm assuming that he can still do that, and I'm assuming that the totality of the circumstances (particularly Vanessa's connection to Felix Manning) will be sufficient to at least open a case against her for Fisk's more recent crimes, even if it's not necessarily enough for a conviction by itself. Which is why, even though she didn't order Ray's murder (yay Ray!), I think the deal still works.
> 
> Also, about that deal: is it a terrible, unstable deal? Absolutely, but I'm keeping it because it ties into the theme of loyalty-to-the-people-you-love and all that.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaddup, guys! Sorry it's been forever, but I wanted to jump ahead to the second scene and skip all the procedural wrap-everything-up parts, but I think I found a way to make them interesting before we get to the comfort counterpart to all the hurt. Enjoy!

Brett

By the time the NYPD got there, the Presidential Hotel was full of dripping wet FBI agents in various states of angry, scared, and confused. Brett made a mental note of the confused ones, hoping that maybe they’d never signed on to Fisk’s plan. One of the scared ones made the mistake of pulling a gun on Brett, who after all had the reflexes of someone born and raised in Hell’s Kitchen. The NYPD took control of the scene, moving room by room through the hotel, securing each room and all personnel.

But Brett didn’t stop anywhere until he found his targets.

Conveniently, they were all in one place. Brett raised his eyebrows at the scene: blood smearing everything, with Ray Nadeem unconscious next to another FBI agent, Ben Poindexter in a heap on the ground making pained noises, a woman and a child Brett assumed to be Nadeem’s family huddled behind Karen Page.

Who was aiming a gun at Wilson Fisk.

Whose face looked like Brett’s mom’s lasagna.

Brett let out a long exhale. “Miss Page, I’m gonna need you to surrender that gun.”

She kept her eyes on Fisk. “After you cuff him, Mahoney. All due respect.”

Brett figured it really wasn’t worth getting into a pissing match with her, so he went ahead and cuffed Fisk. Then he held his hand expectantly out to Karen. She gave him the gun. Once he’d secured the weapon, he called for medics for Ray Nadeem and Ben Poindexter. Brett kept _his_ gun out, though, and kept an eye on Poindexter. Just in case.

“Now, Miss Page,” he began.

“Lawyer,” she said.

“What?”

“I’m clearly and unambiguously invoking my right to remain silent and my right to a lawyer.”

“You’re not under arrest!”

Her eyes darted toward the gun. She didn’t say anything.

Brett sighed heavily. “All right, fine. I won’t ask you any questions until your attorney gets here. I assume you don’t need me to provide you one?” Speaking of lawyers, he figured he probably needed to figure out how to clean up the blood splatter making a trail right out the window before forensics got in here. That was…huh. A lotta blood.

Karen nodded tightly.

Brett cleared his throat. “Thank you for what you did today.”

“I didn’t—”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Brett!” a new voice shouted. Foggy Nelson burst into the room like Brett was about to start waterboarding people. “Are you talking to my client without my permission? Even though she invoked her _Miranda_ rights? Which I know she did because Matt and I have been drilling her on this ever since she started working with us.”

“You two just assumed she’d be a suspect again?” Brett asked incredulously.

Foggy gave him a pointed look.

Yeah, okay. “Anyway, she’s not a suspect. Just a witness. I can get her statement here, or…” Karen looked like she was about to fall over. “I can send a form home for her to fill out, if that’s easier.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m right here, Brett. And I don’t need a form.”

That seemed more driven by stubbornness than good sense, but what else was new with these three? Well, with Karen and Murdock, anyway. Foggy was smarter.

“Suit yourself,” Brett said. It wasn’t his problem if she keeled over in the interview. Still, he reminded himself to supply her with some tea or something. He craned his neck to see past her. “Seema Nadeem? I’ll need your statement too, but…you probably wanna get your kid home, right?”

She nodded shakily. Brett mentally filed her away as being on Foggy’s level when it came to sensibility. “I’ll get you an escort.”

Foggy cleared his throat.

“Calm down, Nelson. I’ll only let her go with officers I personally trust.”

Foggy relaxed by a slight fraction.

And that was how, in the space of about fifteen minutes, he got Seema and Sami Nadeem escorted out of the hotel, Ray Nadeem and Ben Poindexter on their way to (different) hospitals, and Karen Page at the police station with Foggy hovering at her shoulder while she gave her statement.

Obviously, there was one person still missing, but it took a lot of maneuvering to even ask about him. Brett finally ambushed Foggy on his way to the bathrooms after Karen finished her statement.

“Nelson,” he hissed. “What about…?”

Foggy’s eyebrows pinched together. Brett noted how easy it was for him to fall into that worried expression and wondered just how long he’d known about his partner’s double life. “If he got out of there, he’s probably fine.”

Brett’s brain snagged on the _probably_ part. “Don’t tell me I was imagining all that blood that was going out the window. Had to clean it up myself.”

“Thanks for that,” Foggy said, voice rich with sincerity. “Seriously.”

Brett huffed, frustrated. “He went against Fisk and Poindexter and he’s not an Avenger.”

“He could be,” Foggy muttered.

Brett raised his eyebrows. “He needs medical attention.”

Foggy took a deep breath. “I know. And trust me, I’m not any happier about it than you are. But…that’s the thing about him, you know? He can take care of himself.”

Brett just raised his eyebrows further, because that was a _lot_ of blood on the windowsill.

Foggy chewed on his lip. “I told him I’d do better at, y’know…backing off. Letting him do his thing. I’m just trying to keep my word.” Then he tilted his head thoughtfully. “Which isn’t to say _you_ can’t show up at his door with bandages and a casserole…”

After everything Daredevil had done for this city, Brett owed him. Come to think of it, he owed Foggy Nelson, too. “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

 

Claire

She took the steps two at a time, her heavy bag thumping against her thigh. When she hit the landing, she jogged down the hallway to apartment 6A. She still had a spare key, given what felt like centuries ago with a shy duck of Matt’s head. She remembered how she’d had to resist the temptation to run her fingers through his hair.

“Matt?” she called, not expecting an answer. If he were capable of meeting her, he would’ve already gotten the door open.

She stabbed the key into the lock, wondering yet again if she’d be here at all if he hadn’t reached out and asked for her. Once she’d figured out he was alive, once there were stories of the _real_ Daredevil resurfacing, she’d been furious with him. It was the bombings all over again, except this time he hadn’t even left her a voice message to tell her he was all right.

She was still furious. But he _had_ reached out, finally. A single text asking for help, and she couldn’t say no (even though part of her wanted to). She wasn’t sure if it was the genuine affection she felt for this wreck of a man that brought her back to his place or if it was the recognition of their shared sense of duty to the vulnerable people of Hell’s Kitchen. Either way, she let herself into his apartment, headed down the entryway, and almost tripped over a heap of thin, black armor left at the foot of the stairs.

So the boy got some new armor. She should be proud.

Then again, he’d still needed to call her, so maybe she should hold off on pride.

He’d left his bedroom door cracked. Some nurse’s instinct told her to be quiet as she pushed it open, and she found him curled up in his bed in a puddle of sunlight streaming in from the window, barely visible amidst silk sheets and pillows. Claire bit her lip. If he was still asleep at one in the afternoon, if he hadn’t woken up when she came in, he had to be in pretty bad shape.

Toeing off her shoes, she approached the bed as silently as possible, carefully setting her bag on the floor. Standing over him, she could see he was wearing a hoodie, and aside from the blood clotted in his hair had no clues as to the details of his injuries. His shoulders rose and fell slowly, rhythmically.

It seemed a crime to wake him up. But.

Reaching out, she laid a hand gently on his shoulders. _Gently_ , but with a cry of pain he shot upright so fast she snatched her hand away; his wide eyes stared straight at her as his chest heaved. “C-C-Claire,” he got out at last.

“Claire,” she repeated calmly, eyes narrowing. “You okay?”

“S-Sorry.” His legs moved under the covers like he was preparing to get up.

Not so fast. She placed her hand on his chest. “Easy, there. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Sorry.” His eyes flickered closed at her touch and he leaned stiffly back against the headboard. “You just startled me.”

Yeah, she could only imagine how startling it would be for him to wake up to the realization that someone was actually in his room, rather than waking up to the sound of distant footsteps. Especially after whatever trauma he’d been through recently. “I guess you needed the sleep, hmm?”

His eyes stayed closed. “You could say that.”

Sitting back, she just looked at him. He was alive, he was _here_ , which meant she could finally give herself permission to sort through the memories of the Harlem precinct and Midland Circle. The last time she’d seen him alive. The taste of dust as the building collapsed onto him. Her eyes prickled with tears.

But it was all right. He was here. She cleared her throat. “You’re hurt?”

He opened his eyes. “Uh, yeah. I just have, um…this cut on my back. Can’t get to it to stitch it up.”

“I’m afraid you’re gonna have to sit up for that.” She picked up her medical bag while he complied, moving away from the pillows and slowly, gingerly unzipping his hoodie. When he twisted so she could pull away the hastily-applied bandage, fresh blood seeping out after all his movements, she winced at the gash. “What did this?”

“Broken glass.”

“ _Who_ did this?”

“The, uh…” He wet his lips. “The fake Daredevil.”

“But you got him.” It was already all over the news.

His nod was delayed.

Whatever it was keeping him from fully celebrating his victory, it was almost certainly too complicated for her to sort through. Still, she hoped it went away fast. In the meantime, she started doing what she did best: piecing him back together again. Settling on the bed behind him, she peeled back the bandage. Her best professionalism kept her from making any sound at the sight of just how deep the wound was, but her stomach definitely churned a little. She much preferred this kind of injuries on strangers than on friends.

Setting her teeth, she cleaned out the wound and finally started on stitches. His muscles tightened immediately, hands fisting in the rumpled sheets. That much was familiar.

Less familiar was the small, pained noise he made in the back of his throat when she pulled the needle out from under his skin. “Matt?”

The back of his neck flushed. “Sorry. I’m fine.”

“Did I get the angle wrong?” She was sure she hadn’t, but he’d know better.

He shook his head immediately. “No, keep going. Doesn’t hurt.”

She raised her eyebrows even though he couldn’t see it. She was stabbing him with a needle; of _course_ it hurt. It was insane that he’d always been so stoically silent before, but she had to wonder what was causing him to act like someone with a normal pain tolerance now. She deliberately paused the stitching. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Her voice sharpened. “You call me back after months of radio silence, expecting me to heal you, and you won’t even tell me when I’m hurting you?”

“You’re not—”

“I’ve stitched you up a hundred times, Matt, and you’ve never made that sound, so I need to know what else is wrong with you.”

“Nothing is—”

“Do you have internal bleeding or something? Or are you—”

“I got used to it,” he blurted out.

Used to _what?_ With her hands on his shoulders, she turned him around—partially around, anyway, so she could see half his face. He didn’t resist her manhandling, but he did glare straight ahead towards his bedroom wall. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

No longer fisted in the sheets, his hands now plucked uncomfortably at his sweatpants. “No. Sorry.”

Claire wanted to dig it out of him, whatever _it_ was, but she was also more immediately concerned with the blood dripping down the barely-stitched slash across his back, so she turned her attention back to his wound and tried not to react when he winced. He didn’t make a sound again.

“Thank you, Claire,” he said as soon as she was done.

As if she didn’t plan on dealing with all the rest of his injuries. “Hold still.” Beginning at the top of his head, she started working her hands downwards, feeling for bumps and cuts and broken pieces. “How’s your head?”

“Ringing,” he answered, sounding unusually honest.

“You need to drink more water.” She paused her investigation when she found a bandage taped over his shoulder. Frowning, she craned her neck to verify that it roughly matched a larger bandage taped on his upper back. Her stomach dropped. “Were you _shot?_ ”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly.

She pulled back in shock. “My question wasn’t whether you’re fine, since I _know_ that’s a worthless thing to ask you. My question was whether you’ve been _shot_.”

“…Yes.”

“You didn’t call me.”

He blinked up at her apologetically. “I lost the burner with your number.”

Well, it was nice to know he hadn’t been intentionally avoiding her, but that also didn’t answer the real question. “Who healed you?”

His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“Matt?”

He cleared his throat. “No one. A nun.”

See, maybe she would’ve accepted his answer and left it at that if not for his initial hesitation. Instead, she pressed him. “A nun?”

“No one.”

Humming doubtfully, Claire trailed her fingers over his chest, his torso, finding other wounds that she didn’t remember tending. “Looks like this nun of yours helped you a lot. When you say you got used to it, you mean…?”

Matt’s sigh was heavy with some emotion she couldn’t read. “Her stitches were perfect,” he said quietly.

Claire scoffed. “And mine aren’t?”

“No, that’s not…” He rolled his injured shoulder and tilted his head. “You’re usually irritated with me when you’re stitching me up.”

“And she wasn’t?” Claire found it hard to believe anyone could deal with so many of Matt’s injuries without becoming irritated.

“No, she was, but she…” He wet his lips. “She was…”

It was clear he wasn’t going to say it out loud. But Claire thought she understood. After all, Claire was a nurse; she healed people every day, albeit usually when her patients were soothed by a good dose of painkillers. So yeah, once she realized Matt wasn’t going to stop getting himself hurt, and once she realized he wasn’t going to stop insisting he was fine, she hadn’t felt bad about sacrificing some gentleness in exchange for stopping all the bleeding as quickly as humanly possible.

She wondered who this nun was that consistently used such care in dealing with Matt Murdock’s wounds.

He pulled his hoodie back on. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner.”

He should be, but for some reason she wasn’t so angry with him anymore. “It sounds like you’ve been busy.” Leaning forward, she kissed his forehead. “Have I thanked you recently?”

He raised his eyebrows helplessly. “For?”

“Saving the city. Again.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

Humming, she started packing all her stuff back into her bag. “And yet that’s what I’m doing.”

He gave a small nod at that. “How’s Luke?”

She pretended to think about it. “Pretty much perfect.”

His sudden grin looked heart-meltingly genuine. “Good. You deserve it.”

He deserved something like that too. She wondered if he would ever admit it. Accept it. She slung her bag over her shoulder. “Rest up. Your body needs to heal from all the cumulative wounds. _Cumulative_ , Matt.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Pushing himself gingerly off the bed, he followed her towards the rest of the apartment only to stop and lean against his bedroom doorway. “You want a drink or something?”

She felt her lips curving into a smile at the way he said it, so different from the last time she’d come to patch him up and he’d tried to get her to stay just a little longer. Last time, the words had been heavy and desperate (though he'd tried not to show it). Last time, the words had scared her. She couldn’t be the one thing keeping him together, even if he refused to see it that way. But this time, the words were gentle, grateful, and…calm. “Yeah, actually,” she said. “I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come obsess over Daredevil with me at: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ceterisparibus116


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